Taken For A Ride
by FritzKebab
Summary: Cal introduces Gillian to a whole new world. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: Thank you to all who read and reviewed my debut fic "Let Them Eat Cake." I wasn't sure how it would be received and your gentle reviews were very encouraging. While writing this piece, I realized I'm still finding my "voice" as an author. I'm also still working my way into the heads of Cal and Gillian. Please bear with me and enjoy the ride! _

_Disclaimer: I don't own 'Lie to Me' or any of its characters. Also, although there is an actual town in Virginia called Albie, I have never been there. My depiction of the place is entirely fictional._

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'Taken for a Ride'

Chapter 1

She cursed under her breath as she checked the address on the slip of paper one more time. Sure enough, it hadn't changed since the last time she'd looked at it five minutes earlier: 11369 Dogwood Lane, Albie, Virginia. She'd never even heard of Albie, Virginia until last night when Cal had emailed her the location of their meeting. Now, after driving around the town repeatedly for the last 15 minutes, Gillian felt like she'd already seen everything the town had to offer. She usually liked small towns but Albie had certainly seen better days. A decrepit pharmacy, a post office missing both of the 'o's from the sign, a gas station that looked like it hadn't seen a customer in a month, and two dingy bars (both open this Saturday morning) graced the main drag. A skinny old man with his pants belted up near his chest tottered past on the remains of a cracked sidewalk. His left hand held a doughnut, his right a dog leash. At the other end of the leash was a small mixed-breed dog. As slow as the old man was walking, the dog was walking slower, trailing along behind the man. When Gillian drove by, the man scowled at her and the dog bared its teeth. _How charming_, she thought.

Mercifully, the next cross-street was Dogwood Lane. She turned onto it and almost immediately saw a plaque with the address she was looking for set into a low stone wall. She turned into the driveway and her curiosity went into overdrive. Cal's email from the night before had asked her if she was available to help him with something for a few hours but had neglected to say what that something was. Ordinarily she'd have told him to go take a flying leap, inventing a vital lunch with girlfriends or trip to the spa. However, she'd done both of those things last weekend and nothing else particularly interesting was on her calendar for the next two days so she'd messaged him back, agreeing to meet him at the location he provided.

As she proceeded slowly down the gravel driveway, a low, reddish building came into view. A barn maybe? On the other side of the driveway, about 200 yards past the barn she could just make out a small white house. As she drew near the barn she saw a bare patch of dirt off to the side. Tire tracks suggested it had once been used as a parking lot, so she pulled into it, shut off the ignition and climbed out of the car.

It was then that she noticed the large sign above the barn doors, welcoming her to 'Stony Brook Stables." By way of additional greeting, a horse whinnied from inside the barn.

_What in the he-? Why does Cal need my help at a horse farm, or ranch, or whatever you call a place in the country where horses live? Wait, did Cal even like horses? _She couldn't remember ever hearing him comment on them one way or the other. A whiff of horse dung struck her nostrils. _Filthy beasts_. Her apprehension ratcheted up a notch.

Just then Cal appeared, walking jauntily around the corner of the barn with a big smile on his face. He was dressed casually in boots, jeans, t-shirt, and leather jacket. All were black. A pair of mirrored sunglasses dangled from one hand.

"Good morning Sunshine!"

"Cal," she said warily. In her experience, an excessively cheerful Cal was a devious Cal. _Just what did he have up his sleeve,_ she wondered.

"Now is that any way to greet a friend?" He feigned hurt.

"It is if said friend won't tell me what's going on. Why am I in the back of beyond, standing in front of stables, and how exactly am I supposed to be helping you?"

He looked faintly sheepish as he answered. "Ah, yes, about that. It's actually not so much helping me as helping you."

"Wait, I'm out here to help myself. And how exactly is that going to work?"

"Ah!" He clapped his hands together and grinned. "I thought you'd never ask. Follow me love."

Taking her hand gently in his, he led Gillian around the side of the side of the barn. To her astonishment, there in front of them stood a very big, very black, very shiny… motorcycle.

"Um, okaaaay. I get it. Not a flesh and blood horse but an iron horse. Sure, fine. Great." She shot him a puzzled look. "I'm still confused." She gestured at the bike. "What, exactly, am I supposed to do with it?"

"You're supposed to ride it." Her eyes widened in shock. "With me." She blinked once.

"I'm supposed to get on that thing?"

"That thing is a Triumph."

"A triumph of what? Stupidity over common-sense? Death wish over survival instinct? Testosterone over… over… estrogen?"

"A Triumph Speedmaster. 865 cc of air-cooled, fuel injected, raw power." His eyes gleamed. "Look at those pipes, that chrome. Isn't she beautiful?" He brushed his hand lovingly across the fuel tank.

" "_She_" is a death machine. Did you know that motorcyclists are 16 times more likely to die in a crash than occupants of a car? Cal? Are you listening?" He continued to stare longingly at the bike. She wondered if he was about to start drooling. "Do you have a death wish or something?"

"Nah, love. Not when I'm riding my bike."

She almost laughed before she realized he was completely serious. She couldn't believe what she was hearing, though she knew she shouldn't be so surprised. Lord knew she'd seen Cal's reckless streak rear its ugly head plenty of times at work. Was it so surprising that he liked living on the edge outside the office?

She suspected that if she flat out refused to get on the bike it would only make Cal more determined to get her to ride it. She tried a softer approach. "Cal, I don't know. I've never seen myself as the sort of woman to ride around on the back of a motorcycle. It's really not my style, and besides, it really is dangerous."

"Foster, life is inherently dangerous." He put his right hand over his heart. "I promise I'll keep you safe."

She decided to level with him. "Look, Cal, the thing is, I'm so scared of getting on that thing that I'm about to wet my pants. I believe in my head that you won't let me get hurt, but it's hard to convince the rest of me that's true."

Finally appreciating the extent of her fear, Cal stepped closer to her, reaching out to hold her by the shoulders.

"Foster," he said softly, "by now you've known me long enough to know that I'd never ask you to do something that I thought would end up getting you hurt. I wish I could tell you what it feels like to ride a motorcycle, but I can't. I need you to let me _show_ you."

_Damn it_. He could sense her wavering. She made one last feeble attempt at resistance.

"I don't think I'm dressed right."

"I knew you'd say that." Cal reached down on the other side of the bike and came up with a leather jacket and helmet. He held them out to Gillian. "I reckon these'll fit you ok."

She shrugged her arms into the jacket. It was a weathered looking old bomber jacket, that, like the town of Albie, had clearly seen better days. The sheepskin lining was almost worn through in places and the zipper stuck twice as she pulled the tab up.

Cal handed her the helmet.

"Um, how do I wear this thing?" She was in unfamiliar territory when it came to helmets. In fact, she'd never actually engaged in any activity before that had required them. There was probably good reason for that. The thought made her stomach churn.

"You put it on your head and let me buckle it for you, you silly goose." He finished buckling the strap and pulled the clear visor down. "It's best if you keep that down when we're moving, but feel free to flip it up when we're stopped." She practiced moving the visor up and down a few times.

"So here's how it works. Once I'm finished getting my gear on, I'm going to get on the bike and start it. I'll give you a hand, but you'll have to get yourself seated right behind me. Put your butt on the seat, your feet on the little pegs on either side, and make sure you don't burn your leg on the exhaust pipe.

Once you've got your feet on the pegs, keep them there. Under no circumstances are you to try to put your feet on the ground. I don't care if it starts raining fire and brimstone, you keep your feet on those pegs until I tell you it's ok to move, got it?"

She felt like she should salute but squashed the impulse. "Got it. How do I get off the thing?"

"When we stop and I tell you it's ok to dismount, you just reverse the steps you took to get on. Easy as pie."

"What about when we're moving? What am I supposed to do then? You're not going to let me fall off are you?"

"No, you're going to keep _yourself_ from falling off. I'm not leaving that bike, so as long as you hold on to me, you won't either. The other thing I need you to do is lean with me when go through a turn. When we head into a left turn, look over my left shoulder and that will shift your weight to the left. For a right turn, right shoulder, lean right. Got it?"

"I guess." She sounded skeptical. "How will I know how much to lean?"

"You won't." He grinned at her. "But don't worry; you'll get a feel for it. Now there are two other _very_ important things you need to do. One - relax. And two - have fun. Let me just get my gear on and we'll be off."

He reached around the bike and pulled out a black half-helmet. Painted on the top was a Union Jack. He buckled the chin-strap, pulled on a pair of black leather gloves, and slid his leg over the seat of the bike. Then he put the key in the ignition and hit the starter.

Even though she was expecting it, Gillian jumped when the engine turned over. If the bike had looked scary before now it sounded scary too. The roar was deafening. And then there was Cal. Normally he looked like a badly dressed, extremely rumpled street person. Today he looked like the poster child for bad behavior. Amidst the black of the bike and his clothing, his wicked grin stood out like a nun in a whorehouse.

The roar of the engine faded to a manageable rumble and he held out his hand in invitation to her.

Oh God. Why on earth was she about to do this? Was this some bizarre, unintended side effect of divorce? "Leave your husband, lose your mind, and GO DO CRAZY STUFF!" Yes, girls, there was no doubt about it. Cal was definitely the man your mother warned you about.

_Oh for heaven's sake, Foster, _she told herself. _Stop being such a sissy. You promised yourself you'd seek out new experiences after your divorce, so get on the damn bike already! _And with that, she marched over to the bike, grabbed Cal's extended hand, and climbed on. Her feet found the pegs easily enough and she tentatively grabbed Cal's waist.

He turned his head to look over his left shoulder at her and spoke. "I'm going to go fairly slow until we're through town, then I'll pick up a bit of speed. If at any point you feel like you want me to stop, for any reason, just tell me. Ready?"

She nodded mutely and then they were moving. Immediately, her tentative hold on Cal became an octopus like clinging. The gravel driveway which felt so smooth in her car now made her teeth rattle. She was amazed at how loud the gravel sounded, crunching under the wheels of the bike. When they reached the end of the driveway, Cal turned to speak to her again.

"Remember, Foster – breathe." He gave a quick grin and turned out into the street. She stifled a shriek as the bike began to pick up speed. At least the asphalt was smooth, thank God, and she didn't feel like she was about to be bounced off the thing. She felt her pants legs flapping in the air and wondered if it was possible to be blown off instead. Leaning into Cal to get a better hold of him, she realized that if she peeked over his shoulder she could see the speedometer. _Mother of God!_ It felt like they were rocketing along but if the speedometer was to be believed they'd barely hit 30.

Before she knew it, they'd slowed to a stop for a red light at the single stoplight in Albie. Cal lightly rested his left hand on Gillian's ankle and spoke to her over his shoulder. "Doing ok back there?" She nodded. "Good girl." He kept his hand on her leg until the light turned green, then smoothly accelerated out of town and towards the hills.

She'd thought the bike had been travelling fast in town, but now she realized that her perception of speed was drastically warped. No longer wrapped in a cocoon of steel, plastic, and glass, fifty miles an hour felt like eighty. She clung to Cal as roadside whizzed by. Even through her sunglasses the sun was brilliant, giving the countryside a crisp, sharp focus. The red, orange, and yellow leaves flicked like a kaleidoscope. In the distance she saw cows grazing as the road curved gently to climb a small hill.

_Oh God! A curve._ The resurgence of her fear made her heart pound. _Well, that's it, _she thought_. Goodbye cruel world. I'm about to fall off the back of a motorcycle and become nothing but a smear on the road. I knew I'd regret this, knew it, knew it, knew it…_

Cal's gentle squeeze of her ankle snapped her out of her panic. She recalled his earlier instructions and took a deep breath and tightened her grip on him, the better to feel his weight shift during the turn. The bike slowed slightly and Cal gently rolled on the throttle, accelerating slightly as he pushed right on the handlebar and leaned right. Following his lead, Gillian tried to shift her weight as well. The bike heeled over to the right as they navigated the turn and she felt a brief stab of panic at the thought of the bike pitching over too far and crashing. And then as smoothly as they'd entered the turn, they were out of it.

Wow. That was… not as bad as she'd feared. The bike had gone around a curve and she was still alive. As her fear ebbed, she realized that her death grip on Cal had loosened slightly and she hadn't fallen off the bike. She felt herself begin to relax, becoming aware of her surroundings again. Her nose was assaulted by a succession of odors. She smelled freshly cut hay, then moldering leaves, followed by the smell of something burning. Trash, firewood, leaves? She couldn't tell. She felt as much as heard the sound of the motor – the vibration of the seat and chassis - and the whirring of the tires on the road. A car passed them in the opposite direction with a loud whoosh. She could feel the heat of the exhaust pipe on her leg but it wasn't uncomfortable. The November air had a nip to it but the sun still retained a tiny bit of its summer warmth.

They rode on, Gillian taking in the passing scenery. They passed through the middle of a shallow valley with corn fields on either side of the road. A dilapidated house sat in the middle of one field, surrounded by the stubs of the harvested corn. They continued on over hills and down into more valleys. In one, a rocky stream ran alongside the road. In another, a deer careened off into the bushes, startled by their passing. After passing through a particularly winding section of road, Gillian realized she'd forgotten to be scared. Riding a motorcycle through curves was a bit like dancing she decided. There was a certain rhythm to the way one leaned – first lean one way, then sit up, then lean the other way, then sit up. She wondered if Cal would think of it in those terms.

She didn't know how long they'd been riding when Cal slowed the bike. Ahead she could see a weathered wooden building. A neon sign out front simply said, "Jimmy's." They pulled into the dirt parking lot and stopped next to a line of three other bikes. Cal cut the engine and the world went quiet. He sat still for a moment before turning to Gillian.

"What did you think?" he asked with a smile.

Her eyes sparkled. "I… liked it." She smiled right back.

"I thought you might. Come on, let's get some lunch."

He held out his hand to help her balance as she got off the bike. Then he dismounted. They took off their helmets and left them balanced on the seat of the bike. As they walked toward the door, Cal put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. "We'll make a biker out of you yet, Foster." Grinning, she gave him a gentle elbow to the ribs.

They went inside, Cal holding the door for Gillian, and stopped for a moment to let their eyes adjust to the dim room. Worn looking booths lined the three walls of the restaurant and in one corner stood an old-fashioned jukebox. The fourth wall was fronted by a long wooden bar. In an extra-large booth near the bar sat the riders of the other bikes parked out front - three huge men all with more hair on their faces than on their heads, and three women who took the "bigger is better" approach to hairstyling. Two of the women wore blue eye shadow.

Cal and Gillian sat down across from each other in a booth near the door and Cal handed her a plastic covered menu.

"You place your order at the bar, so as soon as you know what you want I'll go up."

She looked at him quizzically. "How do you figure out what you want if you don't look at the menu?"

"I've been here before. I always get the beef stew. It's delicious."

She handed the plastic menu back to him. "Okay. Beef stew it is then. And I'll have a beer to go with it. Whatever they have on tap."

"Your wish is my command." When he reached the bar, the bikers' conversation stopped, only to resume again once he'd returned to Gillian. He handed her a frothy beer and took a sip of his own ginger ale. Before either could speak, a woman came through a door in the back of the restaurant carrying a tray on which sat two large bowls of stew and a loaf of what looked to be crusty homemade bread. She placed the food on the table along with two napkin wrapped bundles of utensils.

"Y'all enjoy your lunch. Just give Jimmy," she nodded to the bar, "a yell if you need anything else."

They thanked her and dug in. As Cal had predicted, the stew was excellent. They ate in silence for a few minutes before Gillian wiped her mouth with a napkin and leaned back against the seat of the booth. "So. Spill it Lightman. How long have you been riding motorcycles and how long did I not know that?"

"Aha, I knew the inquisition was coming. I started riding motorcycles when I was 16. They were cheap transportation and like most boys that age I had more testosterone than I knew what to do with. I started on little mopeds, and then gradually worked my way through the larger sport bikes and cruisers. I rode all the way up until the time Emily was born. Then Zoe insisted I quit. So I did.

But I missed riding. After Zoe and I split up, I realized I could do whatever I wanted." He made a wry face. "You know how that goes."

"Um." She took a sip of her beer.

"I just bought the Triumph and got back into it about eight months ago. So don't worry, you're not too far out of the loop." He paused as the group of bikers said a noisy farewell to Jimmy and went outside.

"Does Emily know you do this for fun?"

"Yup. She's fine with it. Though I can't convince her to join me."

"Ah," Gillian said. "At least one member of the Lightman clan has some sense."

"Hey, now. Admit it. You were having fun out there weren't you?"

"Yes, yes, I confess." She held his gaze. "It's… intense." She thought she saw something flicker in his eyes but wasn't sure."

"Yeah. Yeah it is." He resumed eating.

They finished the rest of their meal in silence. Cal threw down a few dollars for a tip and they headed back outside. Pausing outside the front door to slip on their sunglasses, they saw the male half of the biker crowd had stopped for a smoke. The three men lounged by corner of the building, looking hard at Cal and Gillian. Despite her skill at reading people, Gillian felt unnerved by their attention. She slipped her arm through Cal's, partly to reassure herself the bikers meant no harm and partly to make sure Cal didn't feel the need to aggravate them. He had a knack for pissing people off and she was pretty sure these men would not react well to a short, cocky, Englishman pestering them.

The largest of the three dropped his cigarette butt and crushed it beneath his boot. "Hey fella, whatcha riding? Don't look like no Harley I've ever seen. Is that some kind of Limey bike?" His buddies laughed.

Gillian tensed slightly but Cal still felt relaxed. "Yeah, actually it is. It's got some pretty good torque down low, know what I mean? Come on; let me show her to you." Cal pulled away from Gillian and moved towards his bike, waving for the bikers to follow him. The three glanced at each other skeptically but followed Cal.

Gillian was trying to figure out how to keep the brutes from crushing Cal in the dirt just like the cigarette butt when she saw Cal gesticulate wildly and heard the men burst out in raucous laughter. A moment later all four of them were gathered close around the bike, peering intently at the engine. Ah the universal ritual of male bonding – a bunch of guys standing around looking at the guts of a vehicle, each pretending he knew what the hell he was looking at. True, Cal could be an enormous pain in the ass at times, but he could also be quite charming – when he tried. She figured Cal was safe for the moment and turned back into the restaurant in search of the ladies room.

The first thing Gillian saw when she opened the door to the restroom was hair and lots of it. The three biker women were standing in front of the mirror, each with her hands to her head trying to do… something with her hair. They stopped when they saw Gillian enter.

"Oh. Hey there!" the one in the middle said brightly. She was wearing a baby doll t-shirt that read, "I'm not A bitch, I'm THE bitch!" The shirt was barely large enough to contain her cleavage.

Wondering if Cal expected her to start dressing like a biker chick, she replied. "Hi there. Um, so where are you guys headed?" She hoped she hadn't just violated some unwritten biker code by asking about their destination.

The shortest of the three, a platinum blonde, answered. "Oh we're headed on up into the Blue Ridge to see some more of the leaves and whatever other scenic views we can find."

She leaned towards Gillian conspiratorially as if to put her hand on her arm. "But honey, your boyfriend is the best thing we've seen all day."

Her companions roared with laughter and Gillian blushed. "Oh, he's not my boyfriend."

"Well girrrrl, why on earth not?" More laughter followed.

Gillian wasn't sure if it was a rhetorical question or not, but she answered. "We work together."

"Ah. I guess that complicates things. You don't want to look like you're banging your boss."

She tried not to let the presumption of male leadership get to her. "No it's not that. For one thing, he's not the boss. We're business partners – have been for years."

"Hmm, business partners, bed partners. They don't sound too far apart to me." The biker women chuckled. "Anyway, y'all have a safe ride. Maybe we'll see you around sometime."

_How bizarre_, Gillian thought. Ever since she'd taken off her wedding ring, the entire planet seemed to be making assumptions about who she was sleeping with. It was bad enough when the people were her friends, but when they were strangers it was seriously annoying.

When she got back to the bike she found Cal lounging against the seat. She was struck once more by his bad boy appearance. Dressed all in black he looked wicked – in a good way.

He smiled when he saw her. "Ready to hit the road again, love?"

"Sure am." She found herself eager to get back on the bike and ride some more. They put on their gear and Cal started the bike. He let it idle for a moment before gesturing for Gillian to get on. She climbed aboard and wrapped her arms around him. He gave her arm a quick squeeze before revving the engine and pulling out onto the road.

Cal gunned the engine and shifted quickly through the gears. His thoughts were spinning almost as fast as the tires on the asphalt. He had miscalculated. Badly. He'd wanted to draw Gillian out of her shell, get her to try something new, something she'd likely never try on her own. A motorcycle ride had seemed like the perfect idea. Unfortunately he'd neglected to consider the potential side effects of spending several hours with Dr. Gillian Foster literally wrapped around him. He knew she could see the speedometer over his shoulder but he fervently hoped she couldn't see the bulge in his crotch. He was **not** keen on having to explain to his long-time friend and business partner why she was causing his giant erection.

He couldn't understand it. In his misspent youth he'd ferried around plenty of attractive women on his bike. None of them had ever caused such a reaction. He was middle aged now, for pity's sake, and well past the time in his life where this sort of thing was supposed to happen. He nearly groaned when Gillian shifted slightly, pressing her breasts harder into his back and tightening her hold on his waist. Even through two layers of industrial strength leather the sensation was enough to make him start to sweat.

He flashed back to the look she'd given him at lunch. "_It's… intense._" Truer words were never spoken, though she wasn't to know that. Oh God, no. She definitely wasn't to know that. How could he possibly explain this to her when he had no idea himself why it had happened? Here was a woman he'd known and worked with on a daily basis for years. That she should suddenly arouse him to the point of pain was hard to get his head around.

A car passed in the opposite direction a little closer to the center yellow line than Cal would have liked. He realized he needed to stop thinking about how good Gillian felt or they'd both become road kill. The image helped dampen his desire. He began to push harder through the turns, taking them at higher speed and leaning the bike more aggressively, forcing his mind to stay on the task at hand.

Rolling up the driveway of Stony Brook Stables was both a blessing and curse, Cal thought. A part of him didn't want Gillian to get off the bike – ever. Another part of him wanted her as far away as possible so his brain could resume rational thought. He pulled into the dirt parking lot next to Gillian's car and cut the engine. They both sat in silence for a moment, listening to the horses shuffling in their stalls. Cal held out his hand to help Gillian balance as she dismounted. He put the kickstand down and leaned the bike into in but he stayed seated.

He removed his sunglasses and looked at her with an arched eyebrow. She mimicked his actions and arched an eyebrow right back at him. "Yes, Cal?"

He couldn't help but smile broadly at her. "Well Foster? Did you enjoy the second half of the ride as much as you enjoyed the first?" _You'd run screaming if you knew how much __**I**__ enjoyed it_, he thought.

"Yes I did. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I think you pushed your limits a little more the second half didn't you?"

"That I did." It suddenly dawned on him that she might not have appreciated his more aggressive riding. He looked at her with more concern. "I'm sorry love – didn't scare you did I?" He hated himself for being so involved with his own reaction to her that he failed to consider how she might feel about the way he was riding.

She smiled softly at him. "No. I wasn't scared."

She took off her helmet and jacket and started to hand them back to Cal but he waved her off. "No, no. You'd better keep them. If you want to go for another ride sometime?" He looked at her questioningly.

She gave him one of her most radiant smiles. "I'd like that very much. Thanks for being patient with me this morning." She hesitated. "I promise I'll be a little more open to new experiences with you in the future." _Hell. She'd noticed. Had she noticed?_ He smiled back, hoping she wouldn't notice it didn't quite reach his eyes.

She opened her car door, tossed the jacket and helmet into the passenger seat and climbed behind the wheel. She shut the door and rolled down the window. "Hmm, feels weird to be in a car again."

"Just wait til you start driving. I'll follow you to main road."

"Ok. See you Monday Cal."

"Monday Foster."

She drove slowly down the rutted driveway and turned onto the road through the little town of Albie. Cal followed at a distance until they reached the interstate that would take them back to D.C. Then he opened the throttle and with a roar and a wave, he blasted past Gillian, down highway and out of sight.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Author's note**_: Thank you all so much for your kind reviews. I'm glad you're enjoying the story. Sorry this chapter has taken a while - it was a little hard to write. Plus, I got a new motorcycle last week, so I've been busy playing with it.

_**Disclaimer:**_ I do not own 'Lie to Me' or any of the characters.

Chapter 2

The scotch burned its way down his throat. By now he'd had enough that he ought not feel it so much, but he did. _Serves you right, you stupid git, _he thought. After the way his body had betrayed him earlier in the day it deserved a little punishment. Maybe even a lot of punishment.

He flopped down on the leather sofa and stared moodily at his glass. If he raised it to eye level, he could see objects on the other side of the room, amber-filtered and wavering through the scotch. Just what would the malt show him after a few more drams? Would it shed any light on what had happened to him during the ride? Or would it bring blissful oblivion? Abruptly he snorted and shook his head. _Jesus, Lightman, enough with the bad metaphors already. It's too early in the bottle to get maudlin._

He threw down the last of the scotch in the glass and poured himself another few fingers worth. Setting the bottle on the coffee table, he leaned back heavily into the couch. He desperately wanted to avoid thinking about his reaction to Gillian on the ride but even under the influence he recognized that he'd have to address it at some point. After all, there are only so many things that can be ignored, and a giant erection in the presence of one's long-time friend and business partner was not one of them.

Just what the hell **had** happened? He knew she been terrified to even get on the bike at first. For a fraction of a second he'd felt guilty about trying so hard to persuade her, but then she'd agreed and off they went. For the first few miles it felt like he'd had a concrete pillar riding behind him, but after they'd successfully navigated a few turns he'd felt her start to relax. Unless he very much missed his mark she'd been eager to get back on the road after lunch, and by the time they reached the stables she'd been molded to him like a second skin. Not that he'd ever had a second skin, but damn, he was pretty sure it wouldn't feel as good as she did. He could feel her thighs squeezing him gently and her arms had been holding him tight just above his waist. Even as the wind tugged at their hair and clothes, he could smell her perfume. He could still feel her breasts pressed into his back. If he lived to be ninety he wouldn't forget that. It had taken every ounce of self-control he possessed not to stop the bike, turn around, unzip her jacket, and…

_Oh God!_ There it was, stirring again – the beast down below. _Christ on a crutch, Lightman. What is your problem, you horny bastard? Bad enough that you have this reaction when she's touching you, but now all you have to do is think about her?_ This was not good.

He realized he'd emptied his glass and reached for the bottle to refill it. As he poured he scrubbed one hand over his face. Why was this happening now? They'd worked with one another for years, touched each other, dozens, no hundreds of times and it had never been a problem. _Think, you fool. What's changed?_ They were both single for the first time in years. But so what? _Let's face it, _he thought, _I'm such a bastard that if I'd really felt like sleeping with her when we were married to other people, I'd have done it anyway, consequences be damned._ It seemed unlikely that something as bloodless as a divorce decree could be the cause of such a visceral reaction.

_Why, why, why… _His brain struggled to navigate through the scotch felt like he'd simultaneously had too much to drink but also not nearly enough. Maybe it had to do with age. He wasn't a young man anymore and he'd heard that things could become somewhat… unpredictable in middle age. No, that made no sense at all. Just look at all the ads for Viagra, Cialis, and who knows what other "male enhancement" products bombarding men. He snorted. If anyone ever figured out how to put Gillian Foster in a pill they'd make a mint, he thought. No, clearly his problem, whatever it was, was not one shared by millions of other middle-aged men.

_Dammit._ His glass was empty again and the bottle was rapidly emptying. He refilled the glass but held onto the bottle as he flopped back onto the couch, staring at the ceiling. He thought the room might have started to spin, so he closed his eyes, as if that would make it stop. Fragmented thoughts skittered around his brain. _Why me, why now, why her… There's got to be a reason. Why can't I figure out what it is? That was some excellent scotch I just drank. Wonder what she's doing right now? Maybe I should go say hi to her._

He opened his eyes. Everything in the room seemed to have a fuzzy halo of some sort around it. Except for what was left of the scotch. He lifted the bottle to his lips and up-ended it. When had all his stuff grown fur? With lights in it? Lights, as bright as Gillian's beautiful blue eyes when they looked at him. In a deep recess of the tiny portion of his brain that was still functional, he acknowledged that the use of such a clichéd description of beauty signaled he was well and truly plastered.

He realized he felt fuzzy too – on the inside. He knew people who'd crap themselves if they ever found out that Cal Lightman was capable of feeling warm and fuzzy and if he'd had the strength, and balance, to get up off the couch he'd go call them… if he could remember exactly who they were. Hmmm, no, much better just to lie in the warm embrace of his couch, thinking about Gillian.

Whoa there. That was it. No wonder he couldn't think why his body might have reacted the way it did. It had nothing to do with rational thought and everything to do with how it felt to be held by her. Yeah, ok, she was doing it to avoid falling off a speeding motorcycle, but still, it felt… good. They'd hugged each other lots of times, but he'd never been in her arms for that long. He'd never been that close to her. The longer and the tighter she held him, the closer he wanted to get to her.

On the bike, he couldn't see her face or hear her voice and he realized he wouldn't have been able to read her even if he tried. A wave of some unidentifiable emotion washed over him and he felt like he could sink all the way down, through the cushions of the sofa. For once in his life he wasn't compelled to analyze micro-expressions and voice anomalies; he had the luxury to simply feel. Feel her arms around him, her breath on the back of his neck, the muscles in her calf when he squeezed her leg, the warmth of her radiating into his back. His last conscious thought was of her lips on his.

The first hint that something was amiss came when he realized his mattress felt like concrete. When did memory foam get so hard and why did his body ache so badly? He was lying on his stomach, more or less, with his face pressed into… not a pillow. Something very hard and chilly. He thought it might be a good idea to open his eyes and see what was what, but he was having a hard time getting his eyelids to agree. Slowly, he managed to peel one eye open, only to slam it shut as a violent burst of sunlight tried to fry his retina. He waited until he stopped seeing spots, then cautiously squinted. He could make out his hand, at the end of his arm, stretched out in front of him. He wiggled his fingers as if to wave hello at himself. So far so good – at least he wasn't paralyzed.

As the eye began to focus he realized that something was still seriously off. The world had turned sideways since he'd fallen asleep. Almost directly in front of his face were what appeared to be the legs of some kind of furniture – a table maybe? Further from him, he could make out the base of a lamp, and across the room a pair of floor to ceiling bookcases. The objects looked a lot like things in his living room. The only problem was that everything was 90 degrees off its usual orientation.

His eyes finally fell on the empty liquor bottle a few feet from his outstretched hand about the same time he realized he must be lying on the floor. What the hell was he doing on the floor of his living room? He could hold his liquor with the best of them. It had been years since he'd woken up on a floor. A couple of strange beds, maybe, but no floors.

He tried to roll over onto his back but was stopped by the bulk of something behind him. He elbowed it a couple of times to try to get it out of his way before he realized it was probably his couch. _Dammit_. He remembered lying on the couch. Had he fallen off? Who the hell gets so drunk they fall off their own couch? Apparently he did. He rolled back onto his stomach and closed his eyes as a wave of nausea swept over him. _I'm too old to be this hung-over_, he thought.

Memories of the previous night began to flicker through his brain. Scotch. Brooding about something? What? More scotch. Gillian. _Oh God_. Gillian, Gillian, and more Gillian. As he recalled some of his thoughts, scratch that, fantasies about her, he almost blushed. No wonder he'd drunk so much last night. _Brilliant, Lightman. How old are you? You're old enough to know better, that's for sure, thinking that if you drink enough it will make a problem disappear. Dolt._

He got his hands underneath himself and tried to push himself up off the floor, only to bang his elbow on the coffee table. He collapsed unceremoniously back onto the floor. _And now you've fallen and can't get up because you're wedged in between two pieces of furniture. What will Emily think when she comes home and finds your sorry carcass stuck there? Christ! Emily!_ A fresh surge of guilt swept through him as he thought about his daughter for the first time in over twelve hours. _Lightman, you self-centered ass._ Mercifully she'd been set to spend last night at a friend's house, but she was due back in - he squinted at his watch – less than an hour. Propping himself on his elbows, he managed to wiggle out from in between the furniture. He flipped onto his back and stared at the ceiling as he waited for the pounding in his head to ease.

_Come on Cal, get it together. Get your sorry ass moving so you don't disappoint the most important woman in your life. Maybe then you'll be able to figure out how not to epically fuck up your relationship with the other most important woman in your life. _With a groan, he grabbed the empty bottle of scotch, staggered to his feet, and stumbled in the direction of the bathroom.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

It was Thursday morning and, mercifully, there had been no inconvenient erections.

He'd arrived at the office Monday morning, still slightly hung over and fully expecting his body to betray him once again. He'd been sitting behind his desk, perusing the latest budget when she'd started down the hall towards his office. She was wearing a dark red silk blouse and slim, black skirt that stopped at her knee. It was a demure outfit but somehow she made it look like a walking advertisement for sex. He tensed and glued his eyes to the budget in front of him as she reached the doorway to his office.

"Good morning."

He feigned surprise and looked up from his reading. "And good morning to you too Dr. Foster. How was your weekend?"

"It was very… interesting, but also very enjoyable." She smiled gently at him. "I had a good time. Thanks," she said softly.

Cal felt himself relax. She'd always had a knack for calming him down. Well, when she wasn't busy making him horny as a schoolboy. "You're welcome." He smiled back.

"So, I see you're reviewing the budget. Wanna touch base about it later today?"

"Sure."

"Great. Why don't you just come find me when you're ready?" She smiled again before turning and heading back to her office.

Cal breathed a sigh. "Will do," he said to her retreating form.

They sat together for an hour in her office later that day, reviewing the budget for what seemed like the hundredth time. His willful nether regions behaved and he relaxed even more. The rest of the week found them together much of the time – meeting new clients, editing each other's final reports for multiple cases they'd recently closed, reviewing the budget for the hundred and first time, debating the qualifications of a particular candidate for an open position they were trying to fill, and watching video together from a case Loker was wrestling with. Amidst the daily routine of work, their relationship carried on as usual, alternately warm and collegial, then prickly and combative, then back to calm cooperation, but never, thank goodness, sexually arousing.

Late Thursday afternoon, they passed each other en route to separate meetings. On impulse, he turned and fell in step beside her.

"Hi! What's up? I've only got a second," she said, gesturing at the conference room at the end of the hall.

"Would you like to go for another ride this weekend?"

She stopped abruptly. "I… uh, yeah, that would be great."

He looked skeptical. "You don't sound too thrilled about it."

She grinned and shook her head. "No, I'm sorry; I really do want to go for a ride. It's just that I was expecting you to ask me about the budget – again."

"Nah, I've had enough of the budget for one week. Pick you up at 9 Saturday morning?"

"Sounds great. Really and truly." She touched his arm quickly. "Gotta run. Catch you later?"

Once again he was left standing in her wake. "Sure." He grinned to himself.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Gillian was watching out her front window the next morning as she waited for him to arrive. There had been frost on the cars parked out front when she'd opened the door to bring in the morning paper. She'd gone back inside and added a heavy wool sweater to the turtleneck, flannel shirt, and corduroy pants she was wearing, hoping it would be enough to keep her warm. Right on schedule, Cal pulled up to the curb in front of her house and cut the engine. She could see that he'd added two smallish, black leather pouches on either side of the rear of the bike. She threw on the leather jacket she'd kept from last weekend's ride, wrapped a scarf around her neck, grabbed some gloves and her helmet and went out to meet him.

"Good morning, Dr. Lightman. Cold enough for ya?" She grinned at him.

"Indeed it is Dr. Foster." She saw that his only concession to the colder weather had been to add a dark gray sweater to his otherwise black outfit, along with a pair of black leather gloves. She strapped on her helmet, zipped up her jacket, then gestured at the leather bags.

"What are these… thingies… for?"

"Those, my dear, are saddlebags."

"Ah, of course. Iron horse and all that. Are we planning on acquiring… cargo?"

"You never know." He grinned at her and offered his hand to help her onto the bike. "Hop on and let's hit the road." She climbed on, wrapped her arms snuggly around him, and away they rode.

Gillian hadn't realized there'd be such a difference riding in the city versus riding on country back roads. Getting out of the urban sprawl that made up the D.C. metropolitan area was nerve wracking in the extreme, even on a Saturday morning. Traffic was heavy on the interstate, especially near the large shopping areas as shoppers hit the stores in earnest before Christmas. Cal was constantly braking to avoid cars cutting in front of the bike or changing lanes to accommodate a driver who felt his SUV had the right to claim whatever territory it wanted. Several times he accelerated suddenly to pass a car they were travelling alongside. Almost inevitably, the car they'd just passed would move into the space the bike had just been occupying. She wondered if Cal's uncanny ability to read people extended to being able to know what crazy drivers were about to do before they did it. She certainly hoped so.

As they passed the far western suburbs of D.C., traffic began to ease and she relaxed a little. The day was much cooler than the previous weekend but Cal's body served as a good windbreak, diverting most of the cold air around Gillian. She made a mental note to thank him for being such a good windshield. After another fifteen minutes of interstate, Cal exited onto a quiet country road that resembled one they'd ridden the previous weekend. She thought they were in the same general vicinity as last before but couldn't be sure. With a jolt she realized she'd forgotten to ask him where they were going. That was completely unlike her. She was something of a planner by nature and always liked to be in control of situations. How on earth was she supposed to be in control when she had no idea where Cal was taking her? Last week she let him talk her onto a motorcycle, this week she let him drive her off to who knows where without so much as a care. If she wasn't careful, she'd start teasing her hair and wearing blue eye shadow like the biker chicks from last week. The thought made her giggle.

They rode past old barns and herds of cows, over bridges that spanned small, rocky streams rimmed with ice, over gentle hills that led to quiet valleys punctuated only by the occasional farmhouse, some with smoke rising from their chimneys. The peaceful stillness of countryside clashed with the roar of the bike's motor but Gillian found that her experience of the landscape was in no way diminished by the fact that she travelled through it on machine powered by an internal combustion engine. Apart from the noise of the motor, on a motorcycle she was able to experience her environment in a way that engaged all her senses at once. She'd never noticed how insulated her car was until she rode on a bike.

After 45 minutes of riding, Gillian realized she was starting to feel chilled, even with her human windshield. Her feet were numb and she couldn't feel several of her fingers. Just as she was contemplating signaling to Cal that she needed to stop, he slowed and turned onto a dirt road. Mercifully, it was fairly smooth and she was able to retain her seat on the bike with no problem. Several minutes later the dirt road opened into a large grassy field full of parked cars. Cal steered the bike up and down several rows of cars looking for a suitable space for the bike. He finally pulled up next to a giant SUV at the end of one of the rows of cars and cut the engine. They sat still for a moment, letting their ears adjust to the silence. With the cessation of the cold wind, feeling was already starting to return to Gillian's extremities. She dismounted, grabbing Cal's outstretched hand for balance. As she removed her helmet and shook out her hair, she thought she heard the sound of bagpipes in the distance.

"Do me a favor love?" Cal's question distracted her from her listening. He gestured towards the saddlebag on his left. "Can you open this saddlebag and get me the piece of wood that's inside?"

"Um, sure. Wood. Right." She gingerly undid the clasp that held the bag shut and drew out a piece of two by four, about twelve inches long. She handed it to Cal.

"What does wood have to do with motorcycling?"

"Not much." He tossed the wood onto the ground, flipped down the kickstand of the bike, and placed the kickstand on top of the wood. "It keeps the kickstand from sinking into soft ground, like grass or mud, thereby preventing the bike from falling over." He grinned at her. "I'd have used a flattened beer can but I was all out." He dismounted, removed his helmet and ran his fingers through his hair. Hanging the helmet on the right grip of the handlebars, he held out an arm to Gillian. "Shall we?"

She slipped her arm through his. "Yes. We shall."

They began walking towards a table with a sign above it that read "Tickets."

"Two please," Cal told the elderly woman sitting behind the table. She took his $20 and handed him two tickets which he was careful to shield from Gillian's view. He reclaimed Gillian's arm and steered her down a gravel path.

"Hey! Tickets to what?" She playfully tried to grab his hand that held the tickets, but he moved it out of reach.

"You'll see."

"Aw, hey, come on. Don't make me beg here."

He arched an eyebrow at her. Just then, bagpipes sounded from the other side of a nearby hill.

"Bagpipes? We have tickets to a bagpipe concert?"

"Not exactly." They rounded a curve in the path and came to a large banner strung overhead between two trees. It read, "Welcome to the 17th Annual Shenandoah Highlands Festival!"

"Oh Cal! How neat!" The festival occupied almost all of a shallow bowl of earth beneath them. A throng of people milled around in front of them at the entrance. To the left ran several rows of vendors' and exhibitors' booths. Directly in front of Cal and Gillian was a large, flat open field. Several ranks of wooden bleachers sat off to one side of the field. To the right of the entrance a wide path led to a cluster of food vendors. Various smells mingled in the air and Gillian's stomach growled in response. A small stage populated with three microphones stood slightly apart from the food vendors.

Just then, two men with in kilts walked by, catching Gillian's eye with their muscular legs. She turned to Cal and deadpanned, "Thank you."

He bit back a smile. "You're welcome." He noticed Gillian's attention had already drifted to the closest vendor whose stall contained an astonishing variety of jewelry, most of it silver. "Why don't I go get us something hot to drink? Warm up a bit, eh?"

"Sure. Sounds good. Whatever they have is fine with me as long as it's hot." She'd already begun to pore over the necklaces on display.

Moments later Cal returned with two Styrofoam cups and handed one to Gillian. "Here you go love. Hope you like mulled wine."

"Mmmm, my favorite. How did you know?" He merely shrugged his shoulders in response, watching her sample the wine with obvious pleasure.

Sipping their drinks, they began to stroll through the vendors, examining their wares. Everything from silver Celtic jewelry to clan tartans to beautiful oil landscapes of the Scottish highlands was on display. There were booths devoted to individual clan's genealogy, history, and immigration records. Several booths clustered together contained beautiful glass and metal sculptures, and a multitude of landscape paintings, both oil and watercolor. Gillian was particularly taken with the landscapes. Many were of the highlands – gray skies framing the dark hills and mountains. Some showed scenes from the coastal areas, depicting small fishing villages clinging to the rocky shoreline. Though the paintings were obviously done by different artists, they all reflected the rugged self-sufficiency she'd always associated with Scotland.

They moved on to browse through a large collection of woolen and woven goods – kilts, tartans, hats, gloves and mittens, scarves, shawls, sweaters, throw rugs, and even socks. Gillian paused in front of a rack of kilts.

"Ever worn a kilt, Cal?" Gillian asked jauntily.

"Ah, no." He wasn't sure he liked the direction this conversation was headed. Though to be fair, it wasn't entirely unexpected, given that he'd taken her to a Scottish festival.

"Aw, why not?" Gillian decided an opportunity to tease Cal about wearing a skirt was not to be missed.

"Gee, well, for one thing, I'm English, not Scottish," he said sarcastically.

"And what's the other thing?"

He looked around theatrically before replying in a stage whisper, "Because kilts are for sissies."

She mock-pouted at him. "And because you're so valiantly defending your manhood, you deny the female world the opportunity to ogle your legs. Too bad."

He rolled his eyes at her but couldn't suppress a grin. Nor could she. "I'll have you know that women have been known to swoon at the sight of my legs." He waved his hands around expansively. "Me in a kilt would be like yelling fire in a public theater. The resultant stampede of females would be," he shrugged, "a public safety crisis." This time he didn't even try to hold back a cocky grin.

Now it was her turn to roll her eyes. "Come on. Enough with the kilts – let's get back to shopping." She tugged on his arm and steered him towards a display of shawls in a variety of muted pastel colors. A pale peach one caught her eye and she lifted it delicately from the table.

"Oooh, cashmere." She closed her eyes and rubbed an edge of the shawl against her cheek gently before wrapping it around her shoulders and posing dramatically. "Well, how do I look?"

"You look… lovely." In truth, she looked stunning. The peach colored shawl accentuated the warm tones of her skin and made her look even more radiant than usual. He knew he was staring, but couldn't help himself.

"Cal? Earth to Cal?" She'd caught him, but didn't seem too disconcerted about being the target of his long gaze.

He blinked. "Yes love. That's a beautiful shawl. I think it's definitely got your name on it."

"Me too." Looking pleased with herself, she moved to pay for the shawl, Cal trailing behind her.

As they continued to browse the vendors, the sound of fifes and drums filled the air, giving an added boost of festivity to the gathering. They stopped at another jewelry booth for Gillian to purchase a delicate silver brooch with a lavender stone in the center for her sister. Cal contemplated a Celtic ring for Emily but ultimately realized he didn't know what size she wore.

When they reached the end of the last row of vendors, they came upon large easel bearing a sign that read "Dogs of Scotland." Beyond it lay what looked like a colony of dogs, hovered over by their owners, most of whom were clad in tartan of some variety. There were several low, portable puppy pens in which litters of puppies frolicked. Attached to the top of each pen was a sign proclaiming the breed of the puppies within. Between the pens and the legs of bystanders, a variety of dogs meandered around.

Gillian and Cal wandered into the canine chaos. In the pens, the puppies alternately frolicked with their littermates or slept like the dead. She recognized a Cairn Terrier that could have been a twin for Toto. As she and Cal stopped to pet the Cairn, Gillian felt the back of her neck prickle as if someone was watching them. She glanced quickly around but no one seemed to be paying particular attention to them. They continued strolling through the maze of pens and dogs. Several yards away sat two West Highland White Terriers, perfectly groomed, each wearing a tartan ribbon around its neck.

At the far edge of the cluster of breeds sat a pen filled with a handful of dark fur balls rolling around. A sign on the pen identified them as Scottish Terriers. Keeping watch over the rambunctious puppies were two adult dogs. One – dad? – sat near the edge of the pen, ignoring the shenanigans of the puppies and looking calmly out at the various humans passing by. The other – mom? – lounged on a stuffed, tartan covered dog bed and was staring directly at Gillian. Odd, thought Gillian. Could Mama Scottie have been watching her earlier? As Cal and Gillian approached the pen, the female turned her attention to the doings of her offspring and the activity level of the puppies intensified. Tails wagging furiously, they began to launch themselves at the side of the pen, dancing on their hind legs in an effort to attract attention. One of the smaller pups seemed to be constantly shoved aside by his brothers and sisters. When Cal and Gillian reached the pen, the little dog tried to climb the backs of his siblings, only to be thrown off and rolled across the enclosure. He picked himself up, shook to get the dust off his coat, then sat down. From underneath bushy eyebrows, two huge, liquid black eyes stared forlornly at the other puppies dancing in front of Cal and Gillian. As Cal knelt to let the mass of puppies lick and nibble on his fingers through the fencing of the pen, Gillian's attention was drawn to the small, still figure in the center. As their gazes locked, the pup's short little tail started to wag even before he could get his rear end off the ground.

"Oh Cal! Look at that one!" Gillian thumped Cal on the shoulder in her excitement. "He's absolutely gorgeous."

"Fancy holding him?" a deep voice asked from behind.

Gillian turned to see a tall, bearded man, casually dressed in a flannel shirt and jeans. "I'm John Charles, breeder." He held out his hand for her to shake.

"I'm Gillian Foster and this is my… business partner Cal Lightman." Cal rose to shake the man's hand.

"Are you in the market for a puppy?" Charles asked.

"Oh no. I don't think I could take care of a puppy right now. I was just enjoying looking at your little ones."

"Sure you don't want to hold Angus?"

"Angus?"

Charles smiled fondly. "The little guy you were just admiring so much." He stepped into the pen and picked up the pup, cuddling him to his chest and scratching under his chin. The puppy squirmed with pleasure. "He's a real sweetheart," he said, handing the dog to Gillian.

Carefully, she took the puppy in her hands and cradled him in her arms. Stroking him softly, she felt the silkiness of his fur and smelled his distinctive puppy smell. She raised him to her face to look at him closely and a tiny pink tongue flicked out to lick her cheek.

"Oh Cal," she breathed, marveling at the tiny animal. "He's beautiful. Can I take him home?"

"Why don't you ask Mr. Charles love?"

She tore her attention away from the dog and back to the breeder. "Is he for sale?" she asked hopefully.

"That he is," Charles replied, "but he's still too young to leave his mother. It'll be a few more weeks yet before he's ready.

"Oh." Her disappointment was palpable.

Cal's heart squeezed uncomfortably. "Besides love, we're on the bike today, remember?"

Gillian sighed. "I remember." She cradled the dog to her one more time, before reluctantly placing him on the ground in the pen. "Bye sweet Angus." She smiled at the pup one more time before she and Cal turned to resume their wandering.

In an attempt to distract her from the puppies, Cal suggested they get a bite to eat. They headed back to the food vendors and found two open seats at one of the folding tables that had been set up. Cal held out a chair for Gillian. After she'd taken her seat, he patted her shoulder. "I'll be right back love. Just remember what you said last week about being open to new experiences with me."

"Wait!" she said over her shoulder. "Aren't you going to ask me what I want?"

"No!" he called back, already having reached the vendor.

She sighed and wondered what delightful piece of Scottish cuisine Cal was about to introduce her to. True, she had promised to be more open to new experiences with him so she supposed she should just trust him and relax. Hah.

He returned in a few moments with a tray bearing more hot drinks, and two plates, each with a baked potato topped with something that looked vaguely like ground beef. He unloaded the tray and seated himself across from Gillian.

Crossing his arms, he said, "Well, go on. Take a bite and tell me what you think."

Gingerly, she picked up her fork and dug into the potato. "Please don't make me regret eating this." She took a bite, chewed, and swallowed, all while Cal watched her face intently for a reaction.

"Hmm, much to my surprise, this is really good." She forked up another bite. "So tell me. What exactly are you feeding me? I can't quite tell."

"It's haggis," he said with a grin. He picked up his own fork and dug into the meal. "Great stuff, haggis."

"And what, exactly, is haggis?"

"It's… kind of like sausage."

" 'Kind of'? Would you care to elaborate? "

"Well, technically, it's a sausage made from the heart, lungs, and liver of sheep." Gillian turned a peculiar shade of green. "And oatmeal too," he added lamely.

"Oh wow," she breathed. She looked alarmed.

"Hold on. You just said it was 'really good' so don't flake out on me now." He hoped she couldn't tell how close he was to howling with laughter.

"Yeah, yeah. It's just… Wow. You know what? Next time I try a new dish, please don't let anyone tell me what it's made of. Yeah. I think that's the best approach from now on." Her complexion had returned to its normal color and she resumed eating.

After they'd finished their lunch, they resumed their wanderings around the festival. They took seats in the bleachers in the large grassy field and oohed and ahhed as huge men throw large objects – cabers as big as telephone poles, and huge metal balls attached to the end of a metal pole. At the stage near the food area, they watched a group of young women in a highland dance competition. They made another sweep through the vendors and watched an artisan making beautiful candles, and a woman use an old spinning wheel to spin raw wool into yarn.

By mid-afternoon, the sky had become overcast and the temperature had started to drop. Cal suggested they head for home and Gillian readily agreed. They bundled up, put on their helmets, and set off. Gillian huddled tightly against Cal's back, trying to make herself as small as possible to get out of the wind. She wondered how he could take the full brunt of the wind and still be warm enough. As they rode, the air temperature seemed to fall even lower, and she was relieved when they finally turned onto her street.

Cal pulled up in front of her house and cut the engine. He helped her off the bike, then retrieved her packages from the saddlebags.

"I suppose we should have left a bit sooner, but I was having a good time. I'm sorry if I froze you to death on the ride home," he said apologetically, handing her her purchases. "Speaking from experience, I highly recommend a hot bath with a glass of wine. That generally does the trick." He smiled.

"I will if you will." She smiled back at him. Hesitantly, she leaned over to place a kiss on his cheek. "I had a good time too. See you later." She smiled softly at him before turning and letting herself into her house.

Cal waited until she was safely inside before mounting the bike and heading for his own home. He wondered if other drivers would notice he was grinning like an idiot.


	5. Chapter 5

She sighed contentedly and sank deeper into the bubbles. Cal was right. A hot bath with a glass of red wine was the perfect way to recover from the day's ride. She wondered if even now Cal was sitting in his own bubble-filled tub and the thought made her giggle.

She took a sip of her wine and savored the rich flavor. Setting the glass carefully on the side of the tub, she sighed again and wondered why she didn't take hot baths more often. Her muscles weren't particularly sore from the ride but the drop in temperature on the way home had definitely chilled her. Between the hot water of the bath and the wine she was slowly warming up, but it was going to take a while.

Leaning her head back against an inflatable bath pillow, she closed her eyes and reflected on the day. She still couldn't believe she hadn't even bothered to ask Cal where they were going. She'd always trusted him – even more so since he'd managed not to get her killed the previous weekend – but it wouldn't do to have him start to think she was losing her control-freak edge. She made a mental note to quiz him on destination and route next time they went out just to keep him on his toes.

And look at her, assuming there would be another ride! She snorted at herself. _Presume much Gillian? _Just because Cal had taken her on two motorcycle rides didn't mean there was a third in her future. She certainly hoped there would be, but she didn't know how Cal felt. Maybe he was getting tired of hauling her around the countryside with him or perhaps she was cramping his style. His considerable, over-the-top style. Grinning, she took another sip of wine.

As much fun as it was riding behind him, wandering the festival in his company had been just as enjoyable. The vendors, food, athletics, and music had all been vastly entertaining. As an added bonus, nothing had exploded and there had been no gunfire. In her professional association with Cal she all too frequently got sucked up into the violent turbulence that seemed to follow him wherever he went. In contrast, today had been mercifully drama free which was . . . pleasant. Rarely had she seen him as relaxed as he'd been today. Well, as relaxed as Cal Lightman ever got. She knew he could never completely turn off his inner drive to search for the truth in everything and everyone, but today he'd seemed able to tone it way down. As far as she'd noticed, he hadn't even bothered to read anyone at the festival. She thought that might be a record for him for the longest time without analyzing anyone's micro-expressions.

No, instead of the driven, manic office Cal, the festival Cal had been calm and loose. Their wanderings hadn't been constrained by the clock and she'd overhead Cal making what could almost be called friendly conversation with some of the vendors. While they were shopping, he'd chatted with her about a broad range of topics without hesitation. He'd even revealed personal information without arm twisting, answering her question about why he came to Scottish games by telling her that he and Zoe had taken Emily when she was younger. He'd laughed genuinely at the silly jokes of the athletics announcer and seemed truly appreciative as they listened to the fife and drum corps. It was all so very . . . human. And so very unlike the Cal she saw on a daily basis.

It was funny, she mused. You could know someone so well, but forget that whole facets of their personality even existed after a while. She took another sip of wine and twirled the stem of the glass between her fingers. It was no wonder some of the staff at the office were nearly terrified of Cal. All they ever saw was the forceful, driven scientist who could divine their innermost secrets while he himself was virtually unreadable. She'd known he had a softer, more approachable side but it seemed to have gotten lost lately in the daily grind of work. And by lately she meant, what, several months? More? Sipping her wine, she cast her mind back over the last year. It had been a turbulent time for both of them, on the personal and professional fronts. She frowned as she realized that she'd been more than a little self-absorbed for much of that time. She had to admit that in the immediate aftermath of her separation from Alec she hadn't been paying Cal as much attention as she usually did, occupied instead with the legalities of ending a marriage.

She shook off thoughts of her divorce that threatened to drag her off into a tangent of bitterness and anger. They had no place in a bubble bath. She sampled some more wine and returned her mind to more pleasant things, like, say, being wrapped around Cal Lightman. Yes. That was _much_ better.

Her lips curled up in the faintest of smiles as she closed her eyes and sank deeper into the hot water, letting her mind wander where it wanted. It had come as a shock to her previous week. She'd come to accept that she wasn't going to fall off the bike and had relaxed and started to enjoy the ride. It wasn't until they'd stopped for lunch that she realized she was reluctant to get off the bike – and not because she'd suddenly become addicted to motorcycling. She had a multitude of reasons to jump off the bike as soon as it came to a complete stop: her butt was sore, her bladder was about to explode, and she was ravenous. Yet when Cal had brought the bike to a halt in the parking lot of the restaurant, she found she didn't want to let go of him.

At first she didn't know why. She'd tried to intellectualize the issue, wondering if she was subconsciously still scared of riding, or if her unwillingness to let go of him was some sort of delayed stress reaction. By the time they'd finished lunch and gotten back on the road again, she knew she could think about it until her brain blew a fuse but no amount of thought would change her behavior. The simple fact of the matter was that she didn't want to let go of him because he felt good.

They'd hugged each other before and routinely touched each other while in conversation – a hand on an arm, a pat on the back, or sometimes even a friendly punch on the shoulder. He'd held her when she'd been attacked and landed on top of her to keep her from being blown up. She thought she'd had a pretty good idea what he felt like, but after five minutes behind him on a motorcycle, she realized she'd been clueless. When she wrapped her arms around his waist, she was reminded again of his wiry strength. Even through his leather jacket she could feel how solid he was. When she'd dismounted the bike earlier that day, she'd caught her foot on the side of the seat and likely would have fallen if not for his steady hand, reaching up over his shoulder to steady her. She wasn't a big woman, but that had taken some strength on his part.

She loved the fact that riding behind him allowed her to be as close to him as possible, snugged up right against his back. Or, to be more precise, her breasts were pressed up against his back. Through multiple layers of cloth, wool, and leather she could feel her nipples tingling. Okay, maybe that had been because of the cold, but she didn't think so. She suspected it might also have had something to do with how it felt to have his slim hips between her thighs. The memory was so vivid she moaned softly. And why did he have to smell so good? She was pretty sure it was the same cologne or aftershave he wore at work, when he bothered to shave at all, but somehow it smelled different when her nose was only inches from the back of his neck.

Sighing again, she refilled her wineglass and sank back into the bath, content to recall feelings that warmed her more than hot water ever could.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Author's Note**_: Warning! Extreme fluffiness ahead.

Chapter 6

It had been 16 days since she'd last been on the back of Cal's bike. Not that she was counting or anything. The weather had finally turned wintery and Cal had told her a few days earlier that he'd put the bike away in his garage until spring. He seemed as glum about it as she felt, though she suspected their reasons were quite different. They'd both miss the riding, but she doubted he'd miss having her wrapped around him on a regular basis. She was pretty sure that particular feeling was one-sided so she was extra careful to make sure he couldn't see it in her face.

On a more positive note, Cal had continued to show flashes of the more relaxed attitude he'd displayed at the Scottish festival. Not, unfortunately, in the context of work. There he was as feisty as ever, terrorizing the staff at will. Given the amount of eye-rolling Emily had displayed the last few times she'd dropped by the office, Gillian strongly suspected he was also fully engaged in the role of overbearing father. However, he'd lunched with her several times over the past two weeks, and then he'd been much more the man from the festival – relaxed, communicative, and funny. She'd enjoyed those lunches almost as much as she enjoyed riding behind him.

She was checking her calendar for the next day, lamenting that it was full of deadly dull meetings, when Cal appeared in the doorway of her office. It was close to 6 PM and he looked like a man who'd worked hard all day – wrinkled shirt that was threatening to untuck itself on one side and stubble much too thick to be called a 5 o'clock shadow. Of course, half the time he looked exactly like that first thing in the morning when he arrived. She smiled to herself at the thought, then motioned for him to enter.

"Cal. Come on in."

As he slowly sauntered into her office, the first thing she realized was that he was holding both hands behind his back. The second was a strange smile she'd never seen from him before. She couldn't tell if it was good or bad and that made her breath catch in her throat.

"Cal?" As she spoke, his grin turned into something recognizable, becoming the familiar cheeky devil smile as she liked to call it. He was definitely up to something. She decided to play along for the time being.

"What brings you to my office at the end of the workday?" she asked sweetly.

Equally sweetly, he replied,"I realize that it's still a few weeks off, but I've brought you an early Christmas gift." His eyes positively twinkled. What the hell was he up to?

"Oh really. Well isn't that sweet of you. Did your elves help you pick it out for me?"

"Oh no." He feigned horror. "That simply wouldn't do. No, love, for you, I picked it out myself." He was starting to look inordinately pleased with himself. What on earth had he gotten her? She shuddered to think what sort of gift he might consider appropriate for her.

"Oh my. Can you give me a hint?"

"Hmm, ok. One hint. I got it for you at the Scottish Festival."

She made an ostentatious show of looking over his shoulder into the hallway beyond, then put on her best disappointed face, complete with pout. Two could play this game.

"What? I don't see any strapping young lads in kilts. So what's the gift?" She folded her arms across her chest and arched an eyebrow at him.

Very slowly he walked forward until he was standing directly in front of her.

"Well… He's not wearing a kilt but he is Scottish." With that, he brought his hands out from behind his back to reveal a small, black ball of fur which he held out to her. "Gillian, this is Angus and he's for you."

Her mouth dropped open and stayed that way for a good five seconds. Her eyes flashed to Cal's face, then to Angus, then back to Cal's face.

"Cal? You… This is… Oh my goodness…"

He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her this flummoxed. "Yes, love," he said with a smile. "I'm Cal. This is Angus, the puppy you admired so much at the festival. And since he's now yours, perhaps you'd like to hold him?" He pushed the puppy towards her and her brain seemed to restart. Her arms came up and Cal gently placed the pup in them. As she cradled him to her chest, two bright black eyes appeared under the fur and gazed at Gillian. A second later a tiny pink tongue touched her hand. As if he'd acknowledged and accepted her guardianship, the puppy snuggled closer to her and promptly went back to sleep.

Gillian stared down at the animal, speechless. He was without a doubt the cutest thing she'd ever seen and she realized that she'd just fallen in love at first sight. Well, technically second sight but who was counting? Her fingers touched the tartan ribbon tied around his neck. She gently stroked the fur on his head, reveling in its smoothness. His little body seemed dense in her arms, curled as it was into a tight ball. She stared at him in wide eyed wonder, trying to get her head around the fact that she was now responsible for him. That thought finally brought her back to the moment.

She raised her head to find Cal staring at her intently and realized he was waiting for her to say something.

"Oh God, Cal. Oh Cal! He's beautiful. Thank you so, so much. I love him already. Oh my gosh!" She stopped herself before she squealed. Unable to find any other words to convey her feelings, she used her free hand to grab the back of Cal's neck and pull him towards her. She gave him a quick kiss on the lips. "Thank you," she murmured as she stroked the back of his neck lightly before letting him go.

He pulled back and she could swear he was blushing. He met her eyes directly as he said, "You're very welcome." Then he smiled at her and she smiled back, knowing she was acting like a giddy schoolgirl, but not caring in the slightest.

"Hoo boy. Wow. So I'm a dog mom? Wow. I guess I'd better get to the pet store before they close, pick up some… dog stuff." A thought jarred her. "Cal, what on earth am I going to do with him while I'm at work? He's so little I can't just leave him home all day."

"Why don't you bring him to work with you? He's small enough he won't be much trouble. Besides," he grinned, "I won't tell the boss if you won't. Come on, get your things. I'll walk the two of you out."

He waited as she shut down her computer and grabbed her coat and briefcase, not letting go of the puppy for a second. As she left her office, he shut off the light behind her and draped one arm over her shoulders. He gave her a quick squeeze and she leaned her head into him briefly before they went out into the chilly evening.


	7. Chapter 7

_Author's Note:_ Sorry it's taken me so long to get this out. As I was writing this, Angus kind of took over the story and no matter how many times I rewrote this chapter, it always ended up being all about the dog. Next chapter I'm going to do my best to turn things back towards Cal and Gillian. 

Chapter 7

He needed to just admit it to himself – he was still reeling the next morning. Not from the kiss, although under ordinary circumstances that would have been powerful enough. No, what was plaguing him was the look on Gillian's face as she'd stared at the dog. She'd been surprised, then ecstatic, eyes shining brighter than he'd ever seen them. Her whole face seemed to glow with happiness and the knowledge that he was responsible for it had hit him like a kick in the gut. He'd made her happy in the past – insofar as gifts of orange slushies made her happy – but this was a whole new level of emotion. The sight of so much joy on her face did strange things to his insides. Good things, strong things. He couldn't quite figure out what that meant, but he knew that he'd do anything to see that look on her face again. Juggle chainsaws? No problem. Crawl naked across broken glass? Piece of cake. God help him but he'd even be nice to Loker.

He was still contemplating being nice to Loker when the front doors swung open and in swept Gillian, accompanied by a prancing Angus on the end of a tartan leash. From where Cal sat it appeared to be the same tartan as the scarf she wore draped fashionably around her neck. As soon as they saw the puppy, the staff members in the hallway began to flock to him, crouching down to pet and coo at him. From the way his tail was wagging, Cal could tell he was lapping up every bit of the attention.

In an effort to dispel the growing crowd, Gillian decided a public service announcement was in order.

"This is Angus. He's a new hire and today is his first day." She got a few grins from that. "I'll be bringing him around to everyone throughout the day to introduce him properly. We'll see you all shortly." With that she headed towards her office, Angus in tow.

Closing the office door behind her, she unleashed Angus, hung up her coat and sat down at her desk. Angus, happy to take advantage of his freedom, eagerly explored the perimeter of the office. Gillian watched him sniff and snuffle everything. He was particularly fascinated by the area underneath the couch and for a moment she thought he might try to chew on one of her plants. Then he discovered a dust ball to chase and the plant was forgotten. Smiling to herself, she reached into her tote bag and pulled out a puppy-sized rawhide bone and presented it to Angus. Taking it gingerly, they settled to their tasks, he to chewing, she to finishing a client proposal.

__

Three hours later…

Stretching her back, Gillian pulled away from her computer. The blasted proposal was finally done. All she needed to do was send it to Cal for his final blessing and she would have it off her plate for good. She realized that sometime in the last few minutes Angus had woken from a nap and resumed his exploration of her office. He was vainly trying to squeeze himself under the couch when Cal knocked on the office door. In a flash, Angus managed to scrabble backward and hurl himself in the general direction of the door, tail wagging. Motioning for Cal to wait, Gillian hurried to the door and picked up the over-excited puppy.

She opened the door and moved aside to let Cal enter.

"Hi there. I was just thinking about you."

"Were you now?" He waggled his eyebrows lasciviously.

_Oh God!_ Her heart did a triple back flip. How could he know? What had she let show in her face? And when? _Be cool, Gillian, be cool. _She rolled her eyes and shook her head at him.

Grinning, he reached out to scratch Angus' chest. "That's the seventh eye roll I've gotten today. I must be doing something right. So I assume you were thinking of me because you want me to do something?"

_Thank God._ He was probably just shooting in the dark. "Why yes, in fact I do." She smiled brightly at him. "I was just about to send you a proposal and I'd like it, no I'd _love_ it, if you could read it and tell me that it was the most fabulous proposal you've ever read and that we're sure to get the job."

"Quid pro quo," he said, waving a blue file folder at her. "Here's my preliminary analysis of the Rossetti case. Read it and tell me what you think?"

Tucking Angus under one arm she took the folder from Cal. "Sure thing. I'll do it right away."

His face contorted.

"What?"

"First thing you might want to do is clean up that." He pointed to a wet spot on the carpet on the other side of the room. As he ambled back to his office, he heard Gillian's horrified voice.

"Angus! Bad dog!"

He grinned.

Gillian sighed as Angus gave her a confused look.

"I know sweetie. You have no idea what I'm talking about. I'm sorry I lost track of time. I bet you needed to go out a while ago didn't you? Well, I guess the horse is kind of out of the barn on that, but let's get you outside for a stroll anyway." She clipped on his leash and they headed out.

After their jaunt, Gillian decided to start the introductions. If he was going to be the office dog, he might as well become socialized to all the people who worked there. She wanted him to start to learn that everyone here was the pack leader as far as he was concerned. Making the rounds with Angus in one hand and a bunch of dog treats in the other, she was pleased at the reception he received. There was the expected fawning, and she was happy to see that even the few employees who claimed not to like dogs still patted him on the head and told him how handsome he was. She was also pleased to see that he seemed to have an innate sense of who was less comfortable around dogs. His usual rambunctiousness abated and he kept a bit more distance between himself and the person, waiting for them to reach out to him instead of rushing up to greet them.

__

Three more hours later…

After the third doggy potty break in as many hours, Gillian was beginning to wonder if she was ever going to get any work done. She stared blankly at her monitor, trying to remember what she was supposed to be doing. Just as she put her fingers to the keyboard, she was interrupted by a knock at the door. Sighing, she looked up to see Loker smiling brightly.

"Come on in Eli," she said, waving him in. "Angus won't bite."

Loker opened the door just enough to squeeze through, positioning himself carefully to keep an excited Angus from making a mad dash into the hallway. He knelt down and tickled Angus briefly before looking up at Gillian.

"So at the risk of being presumptuous, can I make you a proposal?"

"Ooh, how mysterious. What exactly are you offering?"

"I, along with several of my pet-deprived colleagues, would be happy to take Angus out for potty breaks. Most of us aren't allowed to have pets in our apartments, and besides," he said, gently picking up Angus to cuddle, "I hear women love guys with puppies. This little one could be secret weapon I've been looking for. So what do you say?"

"Oh Eli. That's very sweet of you all but I don't want to abuse your time. Angus is my responsibility and none of you should have to be his caretaker."

"Dr. Foster, it would be our pleasure. Truly." He grinned appealingly at her. "Come on, it'll help him become socialized to the rest of his pack."

Gillian wavered. She didn't want to turn over the responsibility of Angus to others, but Eli had a point. It was a win-win-win situation. Angus would get the extra time, attention, and socialization, her colleagues would have a part-time pet to enjoy, and she would be able to focus more of her attention on work.

"Ok. Let's do it. Thank you guys so much. Can you work out the logistics?"

"Absolutely." He kissed Angus on the head and deposited him back on the floor. "See you soon big man."


	8. Chapter 8

_**Author's Note**_: I apologize for the long delay in updating. I kind of lost the thread of the story and haven't had much time to write lately. I'm hoping to wrap things up in another chapter or two. Thanks for your patience!

**Disclaimers**: I don't own 'Lie to Me' or any of its characters.

Chapter 8

The next morning when Gillian and Angus arrived, Heidi pulled her aside to demonstrate the protocol for employees to take Angus out. A hook for his leash had been installed on the side of her desk by the front door and a discrete roll of poop bags stashed in her top desk drawer. On the edge of her desk sat a piece of paper with the title "The Angus Log Log". On it were columns to record the date and time of the outing, the name of the employee taking him out, and what, if any business was conducted on the walk. Gillian tried not to grin at the potty humor but she had to admit it was appropriate. Heidi assured her that anyone taking Angus out would check with Gillian first to make sure it was ok.

Cal watched Heidi's briefing with an amused grin. He had no idea that in getting Angus for Gillian he'd also gotten The Lightman Group a mascot. From the comments he'd overhead amongst the staff, even though he'd only been with the company for one day the little dog had already endeared himself to most of the employees and was starting to settle into the routines of the office. Cal wondered if he should get a miniature id badge made to attach to Angus' collar.

He gave Gillian a few minutes to get coffee and peruse her email before he headed to her office, sheaf of paper in hand.

"'Morning Foster, Master Angus." He smiled brightly at both of them and Angus, already lounging under Gillian's desk on "his" rug, wagged his tail.

"Good morning to you too. What's that?" she asked, pointing at the papers in his hand. "It looks suspiciously like more work for me to do."

"Just some bills for you to pay." He dropped them on her desk and turned to leave. At the door, he swiveled back to her. "Oh yeah. We just got the footage for the Kavanaugh case. I was going to take a first look in a bit? Care to join me?"

"Sure thing. Just let me know when."

"Splendid." Tossing yet another cheerful smile in her direction, he left.

About an hour later, Gillian looked up to find Cal zipping past her office, waving his hands and making motions in the general direction of the lab. She figured it was time to go watch video, and Angus toddled after her as she followed Cal's trail.

Once in the lab, Angus felt compelled to make a circuit of the perimeter while Gillian sat at a monitor and cued up the video, Cal pacing restlessly behind her. He was as bad as the dog she thought, having to wander around instead of sitting down like a normal person. As they started watching the footage, pausing the tape occasionally to debate the presence or absence of a micro-expression, Angus located a chair not too far from Gillian and curled up under it, content to relax in the company of his mistress.

After about fifteen minutes of tape viewing, they came to a segment where they couldn't agree on an interpretation. Gillian felt that the woman's voice indicated general excitement, but Cal insisted it was fear she was showing.

Exasperated, Gillian implored, "Come on Cal, put on your listening ears. Don't you hear it? Yeah, right there."

"Nah, nah, nah. D'you see it? Right there, Foster, right there," he said, mimicking her, one hand on her shoulder, leaning over her and pointing emphatically at the monitor in front of her.

From somewhere under a nearby chair came the distinctive sound of an animal growling. In unison, Cal and Gillian turned their heads in the direction it came from and found two hard, black, beady eyes boring into Cal from underneath furry eyebrows.

"I may not've heard excitement, but I surely heard that," Cal said, staring right back and taking his hand off Gillian's shoulder.

"Angus! Hush! Nobody's hurting you."

At the sound of his mistress' voice, Angus' eyes softened and he gazed at her adoringly.

She looked over her shoulder at Cal. "Sorry 'bout that. I can't imagine what's gotten into him. You guys were getting along well yesterday, weren't you?"

"Ummm, yeah. Anyway, back to the case."

They watched watching the tape. At one point Cal reached out to gently touch Gillian on the shoulder to get her attention. He realized he felt like someone was watching him and dragged his attention away from the smooth skin of Gillian's neck to look around the lab and make sure Loker wasn't spying on him again. Instead of Loker, he met the cold stare of Angus. He'd never thought it was possible for puppies to look truly, violently angry like humans did, but now he realized he'd been wrong. Gillian, busy thinking aloud, didn't notice as he withdrew his hand, held both hands up in the air as if at gunpoint and stepped mockingly away from Angus. The dog gave a quiet snort of put his head back down on his paws.

When they left the lab twenty minutes later, Angus followed close on Gillian's heels, ignoring Cal completely. Which was just fine, Cal thought. _What have I ever done to him that's given him cause to be growling at me? Grumpy little sod._

Around 1 PM, Cal's stomach started growling almost as loud as the dog had earlier. He unwrapped the sandwich he'd brought for lunch, placed it on his desk, and hopped up to run to the break room for a soda. When he got back to his desk, the sandwich was strewn all over the top of the desk. Rings of onions littered his phone, mayonnaise covered tomato slices were flung to one side of the blotter, and, the piece-de-resistance, diced jalapenos had been propelled onto his computer keyboard. As he stared at the destruction, he noticed a rogue pepperocini had fallen onto the floor. The generous measure of roast beef that formed the heart of the sandwich was nowhere in sight.

Immediately he knew who was behind the destruction.

"Gillian! Get in here! Now!"

She sauntered into view and leaned against the doorframe. "You bellowed?"

"Look what that mangy mutt of yours did to my lunch!" He gesticulated wildly at the carnage on his desktop.

"Oh my." She frowned. "That does look like the work of a mischievous puppy."

"Mischievous? Mischievous my… rear end. Lots of people eat lunch at their desks around here and have to step away for a moment. Why did he pick my desk? No, Foster, this was a targeted attack and I was the target." He frowned down at the remains of his sandwich.

"Cal, I'm really sorry about your sandwich and I'd like to make it up to you, but I doubt very much that Angus has anything against you. Let me go get some stuff to clean that up with and then I'll take you out for lunch." She disappeared as Cal stared at the mess, scowling darkly.

* * *

Thus began what Cal later came to think of as Angus's Reign of Terror. Less than a week after the lunch incident, Gillian met with Cal in his office to review staffing levels for the upcoming fiscal year. As the meeting concluded and Gillian left, Angus hesitated at the doorway for a moment. He glanced into the hall to locate Gillian, then looked back at Cal implacably. He turned as if to leave but instead, he cocked a leg up and let loose a torrent of urine on the doorframe. It looked like he'd been saving up for the occasion - Cal had no idea a little dog's bladder could hold so much. After he finished, he gave Cal a dirty look, then trotted off after Gillian. Cal swore quietly under his breath.

Several weeks later, Cal and Gillian were walking slowly down the hallway, Angus in tow, discussing the possible strategies for a new client they'd just acquired. Suddenly, Cal felt a thud against his leg and Angus went sprawling, yipping and crying like he'd just been stabbed. Gillian immediately bent to pick him up and he looked at her with the saddest eyes ever seen on a puppy.

"Oh sweetie, what happened?" She cradled him against her and stroked his head. "Did Cal kick you?" She shot Cal a dirty look of her own. "Cal, please. A little more care? He's still just a puppy."

"But I didn't kick him!"

"Oh, I suppose he just ran into your leg and that's what made him go flying?"

"Yes! That's exactly what happened."

Gillian glared at him.

"What? It is. Ask anyone," he said, gesticulating wildly at the few employees in the hall. He turned to Heidi who was sitting at her desk nearby. "You saw it, right?"

She frowned and shook her head.

Gillian sighed and started down the hall again. "Please Cal. Just be more careful around Angus in the future." Over her shoulder, he saw Angus looking back at him, tongue dangling happily and grinning like a fiend.

He cursed softly under his breath. "You little demon."

And so the rest of the winter passed. The little dog grew quickly and took on the characteristic stocky Scotty build. Cal had to admit that he was exceptionally well-behaved around the office, except of course, when it came to Cal himself. Then all bets were off. Over the next two months the Reign of Terror continued. The dog would lie directly beside Cal in meetings and pass the worst gas Cal had ever smelled. Other meeting attendees would notice, but would laugh it off as "typical dog" behavior. No one ever thought it odd that the dog only cut loose when he was next to Cal.

Then there was the delight Angus took in re-decorating Cal's office: one day a pile of dog vomit here, one day a pile of feces over there. Once he shredded an accent pillow from the sofa. On one memorable occasion, Angus managed to lock Cal out of his own office after depositing a giant pile of poop in the middle of the floor. Cal never said a word to Gillian, just cleaned up the messes himself.

Taking advantage of his growth, Angus developed what Cal thought of as the stealth torpedo attack. The dog would wait until Cal was striding quickly down a hallway, usually alone. Then, out of nowhere, Angus would appear, sprinting at top speed right across his path, directly in front of him. This usually resulted in a great dealing of leaping, stumbling, flailing, and cursing on Cal's part. A less nimble man would certainly have been tripped up and laid out on his rear end but Cal was usually quick enough to avoid falling. Usually.

The final straw came one night in late February. He was on his way out the door, headed home, when he noticed a light still on in Gillian's office. Thinking she'd already left for the day, he changed course for her office, intending to turn off the light. He stopped short when he saw her still there. She was sitting on her sofa, legs crossed, reading a document of some kind. A floor lamp next to the sofa cast a soft, warm glow around the office. Beside her, Angus was curled up, head resting on her leg.

Cal paused. When she didn't look up from her reading, he realized she hadn't heard him approach. Silently, he took a step backward, into the shadows where he could watch her unobserved. She was wearing a dark blue sweater he knew to be cashmere and a gray wool skirt. In deference to the cold weather, she wore a pair of ridiculously sexy high heeled black boots. Though to be fair, Cal thought, she made everything she wore look ridiculously sexy.

As he watched, she stroked Angus' head and smiled down at him. Cal realized he'd kill to trade places with the dog and clenched his teeth as a surge of jealousy rolled through him. He jumped when Angus suddenly raised his head and growled softly, looking right at him. _Bastard animal_, he thought, _blowing my cover when I could have stood here watching her for hours_.

Trying not to look like the stalker that he was, he quickly stepped forward into the light from her office and smiled at her.

"Hi."

"Hi yourself," she said, returning his smile.

"I, ah, was just on my way out," he said pointing to the door.

"Good night Cal. See you tomorrow."

"You too love. 'Bye." He turned on his heel and calmly made for the front doors. Once outside, and safely out of Gillian's sight, he let himself stomp out all the aggravation he felt. That bloody animal knew he was enjoying watching Gillian and was hateful enough that he wouldn't let Cal enjoy one bloody second of it. Damn it. This whole dog thing was backfiring on him in a massive way. True, at first it had made Gillian seriously happy, which in turn it had made him happy. Now, Gillian was still happy, but Cal was miserable. It was bad enough the dog wouldn't let him get close to her, but that he wouldn't allow him to worship her from afar was simply unbearable. He couldn't believe that one little dog had managed to get the upper hand over him so many times.

As he pulled away in his car, his wracked his brain for a solution to the problem. Gillian was crazy about the dog, so simply "removing" him from her life wasn't an option. To Cal it was clear the dog was persecuting him, but no one else seemed to see it that way, especially Gillian. He realized he'd have to come up with a way to deal with Angus himself, since Gillian was totally suckered by his "I'm just a poor little puppy" act. He smiled grimly to himself. _Ah Gillian, your blindness to the flaws of your men apparently extends to ignorance of the deviance of your dog_. She'd never believe him if he tried to tell her that Angus was jealous of him. Sighing, Cal wondered how he'd gotten himself in such a bizarre situation. He was insanely jealous of a dog, the dog was insanely jealous of him, and together they both adored Gillian. Hmm, he thought. Maybe he could work with that. . .

Back in her office, Gillian continued to stroke Angus even as she stared at the doors Cal had just passed through, her reading forgotten. Why on earth had he been standing in the dark hallway staring at her? Ever since riding behind him on his motorcycle, she'd become finely attuned to the scent of his aftershave and the faintest hint of it told her he was lurking somewhere close by. She'd continued pretending to read until Angus' growl had given her reason to look up. Her stomach had done a flip when he'd smiled at her, thinking he was going to tell her why he'd been hiding from her, secretly watching her. Hoping that his reason had something to do with how good it felt to be close to her on the motorcycle. Instead, he'd stammered the lamest good night she'd ever heard and practically run for the door. It didn't happen often and it took a seasoned professional to see it, but every once in a blue moon Cal Lightman got rattled. Tonight she'd seen it with her own eyes. She frowned in thought and wondered what could possibly have shaken him so badly.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Author's Note:**_ Thank you all for sticking with this story. I promise you, the end is near. I've got one more chapter after this one, then probably a short epilogue of some sort. I'm not sure when I'll be able to get them done, but I promise I'm writing as fast as real life allows.

Chapter 9

It was late afternoon the next day when Cal stopped by her office, pausing in the doorway much as he had the night before.

"Can I ask you a favor?"

She arched an eyebrow and looked at him suspiciously.

"No, really, it's just a little teeny, tiny one," he said, squeezing his fingers together.

Her expression grew even more suspicious. "Your idea of teeny, tiny is probably not the same as mine."

"Come have dinner at my place?"

"Okay." She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. "Now I'm suspicious **and** confused. How does that constitute a favor?"

"Ah, actually, I kind of need a little help with Emily."

She snorted. "Since when have you needed help with Emily? Most parents I know would kill to have a kid like her."

"Yeah." His face softened. "But here's the thing. She's gone on a cooking jag lately and she wants to try some hoity-toity French meal, I dunno, a soufflé or something, and I'm more of a 'throw it in a pan and fry it up' kind of guy. Plus, we've only just barely survived me teaching her how to drive. I don't think either us can withstand any more of my 'constructive criticism.'

You, on the other hand have the distinct advantage of (a) not being her father, (b) being a great cook, and (c) being a great teacher. So how 'bout it? Come over and help supervise in the kitchen?"

She smiled. "Flattery will get you everywhere. What time do you want me?"

_What time did he want her? Oh, 24-7-365. Only on days that end in Y. Christ, when didn't he want her? _He hoped she didn't notice the small hitch in his breathing as he replied. "Six-ish would be great. Oh, and bring that one," he said, flicking his fingers in the direction of Angus. "Em says she misses him and hates having to compete for his attention when she visits him here."

* * *

She locked her car door and headed towards Cal's place, a bottle of wine in one hand, Angus's leash in the other. Beneath her navy peacoat, she was dressed casually in jeans and a loose fitting wool sweater over a t-shirt; Angus wore a tartan bow tie for the occasion.

As she reached out to ring the bell, the door flew open, revealing a grinning Cal.

"Come in, come in. Make yourselves at home," he said, relieving Gillian of the wine and ushering her and Angus into the living room.

She shrugged off her coat, handed it to Cal, and reached down to unleash Angus. He promptly wandered off to explore the perimeter of the room.

"Hi Gillian!" called Emily from the kitchen.

"Hi Emily!" She turned to Cal. "So I take it dinner preparations have begun?"

He was eying the bottle of wine with lusty eyes, distracted by the promise of alcohol. "Umm, they have."

She deftly reached out and took back the bottle of wine. "Well then. I guess I'd better get in there. Care for a drink?" she asked, waving the bottle of wine at him as she headed toward the kitchen. "Why don't you and Angus just relax and bond. Or something."

"Um, yeah, sure. D'you need me to open that?"

She poked her head out of the kitchen. "No, dear," she said with a touch of sarcasm. "It's 2010 – women are perfectly capable of opening their own wine these days. Besides, I'm going to make it a teachable moment for Emily, since she says you never let her so much as look at a bottle of wine. Sit down and put your feet up."

When he hesitated, she rolled her eyes at him. "Please Cal, don't take this as an insult to your manhood. Sometimes a bottle of wine is just a bottle of wine."

Finally, he shrugged and collapsed onto the couch. He spied Angus cruising around the room, sniffing at everything within nose range.

"Don't you even think about making a mess in here, you nasty little animal, you." He spoke softly, afraid Gillian might overhear. "If you do, that's it, no more Angus. I'm selling your furry ass to the circus."

Angus paused in his sniffing and gave Cal a flat look, completely unperturbed by the threat. Instead, he trundled over to the couch, jumped up on the end opposite Cal, and curled up in a loose ball. Cal sighed. Clearly the dog wasn't afraid of him. Just as clearly, he intended to stake his claim to Cal's house, much as he'd already claimed Gillian as 'his.'

Gillian swept back into the living room and presented Cal with a large glass of wine. He smiled his thanks.

"So," she said. "Dinner is in process and so far the kitchen remains unscathed. I'll do my best to keep it that way. You and Angus seem to be getting along well."

"Hmmm."

"I'll take that as a yes." She turned to head back to the kitchen, the paused. "By the way, Emily wondered if she could have some wine." She watched his eyes widen and stifled a smile. "Just a little bit."

"Wha-, who, I don't know who she thinks she is," he sputtered.

Gillian squeezed her fingers together. "Just a little tiny bit? Come on Cal. With two adults here to supervise? I think she can handle it."

He sighed. "Fine. I know when I'm beaten. One small glass. Small!" he called to her retreating form.

He put his feet up on the coffee table and took a large sip of wine. He'd expected it to be good, but was surprised to find it excellent. Taking another sip, he swirled it around his mouth briefly before swallowing. From the kitchen came the sounds of Gillian and Emily chattering, laughing about something or other. There was a loud hiss as something was tossed into a hot frying pan. He was struck by the domesticity of it all. Hell, there was even a pet dog lounging on the couch. He figured he could count on one hand the number of times Zoe had cooked him dinner over the course of their marriage. Not that he held it against her. And not that he would admit it to either Gillian or Em, but it was surprisingly nice, he decided, to let someone else take care of you every now and then.

Plus, having both of them out of temporarily out of his hair gave him something critical to his plan, namely, the chance to be alone with Angus. He got up and peeked into the kitchen to make sure they were both currently occupied. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a plastic bag, then sat down, this time closer to where Angus was lying. Angus peered up at him suspiciously from underneath his eyebrows.

Glancing over his shoulder a final time to ensure Gillian and Em were still occupied in the kitchen, he reached into the bag and pulled out a handful hotdogs he'd broiled earlier and sliced into small pieces. He stuffed the empty bag back into his pocket, then picked up one of the pieces and held it out to Angus.

"Angus, my good man, I believe we got off on the wrong foot. I'd really like the chance to make it up to you." He held the hot dog piece closer to the dog. "Whaddya say guy?"

Angus sniffed the hot dog cautiously and gave Cal another dark look. Cal wondered if he was about to get his fingers bitten off. Then, ever so slowly, Angus leaned forward and took the hot dog gently from between Cal's fingers.

Cal let Angus swallow the bite before he held out another. "See, I should apologize really, 'cause it's my fault." Another bite offered, another bite gently taken and swallowed.

"I realized I never explained to you exactly how I feel about your mum. See, it's like this." He paused. He couldn't believe he was delivering a monologue to a dog but desperate times called for desperate measures. "You and I," he waved his hand between them, "we actually feel the same about her." Yet another bite of hot dog disappeared.

He couldn't believe he was comparing his emotional life to a dog's. Though come to think of it, more than one person had accused him of having the emotional intelligence of a rock, so maybe the comparison with a dog wasn't so unwarranted after all. He plowed on.

"You know how you like her, and want to spend time with her, and get petted and walked and spoiled and stuff? Well, here's the thing. I really like her too. REALLY like her. I mean, I think she's the bees' knees. And because of that, I like to be around her too. And, you know, get petted and spoiled and stuff."

_Jesus Lightman, you're losing the thread. Get it back, get it back!_

He shoved another piece of meat in the dog's direction even as Angus moved closer to him. "What I mean is that I'm not out to take your mum away from you. I'd just like to be able to . . . share her occasionally. What do you say to that?"

Angus snuffled his nose in Cal's hand and determined that all the hot dog pieces were gone. He looked up at Cal, and Cal thought he saw less hostility in his eyes than before. Or maybe he was just projecting. Then Angus gave a small sigh, flopped down, and curled up into a small ball once again, this time leaning against the side of Cal's thigh. Tentatively, Cal reached down and stroked the dog's head. He thought he felt Angus lean into him a little harder. Smiling, he picked up his wine, replaced his feet on the coffee table, leaned back into the couch and resumed listening to the drifting sounds of women cooking in the kitchen.


	10. Chapter 10

_**Disclaimer**_: I don't own 'Lie to Me' or any of the characters portrayed in it.

Chapter 10

He paced restlessly in front of the window as he waited for Gillian to arrive. Not that he'd ever admit to having a case of nerves, at least not about the arrival of Gillian. If pressed he'd say that he was worried about the weather turning bad again or how his bike would handle the first ride after being garaged all winter. The reality of it was that he'd never been so anxious to get on his bike in his life. He'd missed riding, sure enough, but what he'd really missed was riding with Gillian.

It was odd, he thought. They saw each other every day, talked constantly about a wide variety of things – work and life, touched each other frequently, went through their ups and downs together, and generally shared large portions of their lives with each other. He considered her his best friend and was pretty sure the feeling was mutual. But in spite of all of this, he never felt closer to her than when they were out on the bike. During the harsh winter weather that had robbed him of his chance to ride with her, he'd spent a lot of time reflecting on why he enjoyed her company so much on his rides. So far he hadn't come up with any answers that didn't involve her ridiculously sexy body.

As if on cue, that very same bit of gorgeousness pulled her car to the curb in front of his house, tucking in behind the motorcycle he'd moved out of the garage earlier. She eased out of the car with the grace of a cat and he thought he'd be perfectly happy watching her get in and out of her car all day long. God, was he really that sad and pathetic? Yes, he decided. Yes he was.

She grabbed the leather jacket she'd worn on their previous excursions and opened the rear car door to release Angus. When he'd called her the night before to ask her if she wanted to ride today, she'd worried about leaving Angus alone all day. He'd volunteered Emily's services as dog-sitter and Gillian had readily agreed.

He opened the front door and Angus charged in, sniffing briefly at his shoe before running into the kitchen to greet Emily enthusiastically. Since the hot dog intervention several weeks earlier, Angus had been much friendlier. He no longer bristled whenever Cal touched Gillian. In fact, he'd been present when Cal had hugged her briefly and had barely reacted. Although he'd much rather be touching Gillian, he'd made a point of petting Angus whenever he could, discovering the little dog loved to be scratched between his shoulders.

Today he greeted Gillian with a light kiss on the cheek.

"Ready love?"

"As I'll ever be." She grinned at him.

"That's my girl. Em, were off!"

"Bye guys! Have fun!"

"Will do. See you in a bit."

* * *

She tightened her arms around his waist and reveled in the feel of him. God, she'd missed this. Missed him. She almost snorted aloud at how silly that sounded. Was it even possible to miss someone you saw every day? Still, she knew that just because you laid eyes on someone routinely didn't mean you got to see their true, genuine self. While riding with him, she'd been privy to the Cal Lightman most people never got to see - relaxed, fun-loving, and much less cynical. Unlike the general public, she'd known he had it in him, had seen him display similar traits when he was with Emily, but she knew he didn't often let his guard down around other people. She smiled to herself, thinking she was privileged to be one of the select few who got to experience this side of Cal.

He wished his arms were about two inches longer. He'd already adjusted his riding position so that his upper body leaned back more than usual, away from the handlebars and into Gillian's embrace. He wanted to lean into her even harder but didn't want to jeopardize his control of the bike any more than he already had. He didn't understand how it could feel so good just having her arms around him. In some ways it was so innocent – a guy giving a girl a ride on his motorcycle, girl holding on to him to keep from falling off. In other ways it was utterly carnal - the softness of her breasts against his back, the way her hands rested lightly on his jacket, just above his belt buckle, her breath on the back of his neck, the feeling of her thighs on either side of his hips. He was not at all religious, but right then he found himself firing off an impromptu prayer, asking a god he didn't particularly believe in if He could possibly manage to make Gillian's hands move just a little bit lower. Probably it was bad form to pray for a woman to touch you like that, he thought, but he'd suffer the fires of hell gladly if she'd just let her hands wander a little further south.

Moments later, Cal silently cursed the very same god he'd prayed to earlier as the bike's engine suddenly sputtered and died. He guided the slowing bike to the side of the road, grateful there was a solid shoulder on which to park it but seriously irate that stopping meant Gillian would have to let go of him. He cursed again, this time under his breath.

"What's wrong?" Gillian asked, peering over his shoulder at the gauges.

He frowned. "I'm not sure yet. Hang on a sec'."

He tried to restart the bike but when he twisted the throttle to give it gas, there was nothing. He thought he felt a slackness in the throttle grip and decided the most likely explanation was a snapped throttle cable. Damn. It figured the one part of the bike he hadn't checked out the night before would be the one part that broke.

He looked back over his shoulder at Gillian. "You might as well dismount. I think we're going to be here a while," he said. "Busted throttle cable," he said, answering her unasked question. He held out a hand, helped her off the bike, then slide off himself.

They removed their helmets and looked around, surveying the area where they'd stopped. They'd come to rest in a wide, grassy valley in the hills. Off to their right, a small stream ran parallel to the road. On the opposite side of the stream, a stand of oak trees was covered with the pale yellow-green leaves of early spring. Although the temperature was still somewhat cool, the spring sun was warm, and Cal unzipped his jacket. As he did so, he realized that the god he didn't quite believe in had probably just answered his prayer. He was alone with Gillian on a lovely spring day in the middle of nowhere.

"So what now?" Gillian asked.

"Now I do the manly thing and call for help," he replied, pulling out his cell phone and punching a button.

"Hmm." She grinned. "Looks like you've got help on speed dial."

He grinned back sheepishly. "It's not the first time I've broken down and I seriously doubt it'll be the last. Yeah, hi –" he broke off and moved a short distance away to conduct his conversation.

Gillian slid her helmet onto the grip of the bike and shrugged out of her leather jacket. As long as they weren't going to be riding any time soon, she figured she'd let her skin take advantage of the sun's warmth. She pushed the sleeves of her shirt up and luxuriated in the feel of the sun on her forearms.

"Well? What's the word?" she asked as Cal walked back to her, slipping his phone back inside his jacket.

"The word is that they can come get us, but it'll probably be a couple of hours." He made a small grimace, hoping that she wouldn't notice it was utterly fake. "Apparently we're not the only bikers taking advantage of the good weather."

"Whoosh. Wow. Ok. So I guess we just hang out here by the side of the road 'til then?"

He glanced toward the stream. "I've got a better idea. Come with me." He opened one of the saddlebags and brought out a gray wool blanket and a paper grocery bag.

"What's in the bag?"

"Follow me and you shall see," he chimed, heading towards the stream.

They walked through the short spring grass about forty yards where there was a narrow, sandy beach just before the stream's bank. Cal spread out the blanket and flopped down on it. Without waiting for an invitation, Gillian sat down next to him.

"Ok. I followed you. Now what's in the bag?" She put on a grumpy face to underscore the seriousness of her question.

His smile was devilish. "So impatient love. I'm getting to that." He reached into the bag and pulled out a thermos. He opened it and the scent of chocolate wafted through the air.

Her eyes widened. "Oooh, hot chocolate." He poured some into the lid of the thermos and handed it to her. She took an appreciative sip and sighed. "Damn you're good."

He held up a finger, indicating there was more. Reaching back into the bag, he produced a carton of coconut macaroons. Opening it, he presented it to her with a flourish.

"Damn you're really good." He laughed. "So don't tell me that you always carry hot chocolate and cookies when you go riding?"

"Nah, when it's just me it's coffee and granola bars."

"Ah, so for me you went all out."

"Absolutely Foster. Nothing but the best for you my dear girl." They grinned at each other.

Chatting amiably, they worked their way through the macaroons, sharing the hot chocolate. When they'd finished, Cal wadded up his leather jacket, lay down and stuffed it behind his head for a pillow. He folded his hands across his stomach and closed his eyes to the sun. He figured this was just about as close to heaven as he was going to get. Him and Gillian, alone, in the middle of nowhere, nothing to do, no place to go. The tow truck he'd called could take as long as it wanted for all he cared. He was perfectly happy to lie here in a field with Gillian forever.

Gillian studied him. He seemed completely at ease, ankles crossed, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His face was relaxed, a tiny Mona Lisa smile on his lips. She was contemplating how horrified he might be if she simply stretched out on top of him and made love to him right there beside the stream when he spoke her name.

"Jesus Cal! I thought you'd gone to sleep." She clutched her chest. How could he have possibly known what she was thinking?

"Stop looking at me." He spoke without opening his eyes.

"Ok, fine. Stop scaring the bejeezus out of me." Hands behind her, she leaned back and turned her face towards the sun.

She wasn't sure how long they stayed like that before he spoke again. This time his eyes were open.

"Gillian, do you really enjoy motorcycling?"

It struck her as an odd question. She was pretty sure he'd asked her that before and she knew she'd made a point of telling him several times how much she liked it.

"Yes, I really do." She looked down at him and smiled.

He looked relieved at her answer. "You know, you don't always have to ride behind me. Lots of women ride their own bikes. I'd be happy to teach you, or better yet, point you in the direction of people who can teach you better than I can."

His voice was relaxed but Gillian saw an intensity in his gaze that hadn't been there a minute ago.

"No, thanks." She shook her head. "I'm not particularly interested in learning to ride. Besides, I like riding behind you."

"You do?" The surprise was evident in his voice.

She looked down at him and smiled again. "Yes, I do."

"Why?"

"Why?" Dammit, she knew he'd catch that deflection. She hadn't anticipated the direction the conversation seemed to be headed. She looked out into the distance hoping to buy some time to come up with a plausible answer to his question.

"Gillian." His voice was insistent. She glanced at him, surprised to see that he hadn't moved. His eyes bored into her and she had to look away again.

"Why do you like riding behind me?"

She swallowed hard. He had her. She could lie and never hear the end of it. Or she could tell the truth and hope that it wouldn't destroy them both. She took a deep breath and looked at him. "Because it feels good. Because you. . . feel good."

She watched him intently, looking for any reaction to her revelation. All she saw was a tiny twitch in the corner of one eye. Then he smiled a slow, sweet, honest smile she rarely saw. He said softly, "You feel good too."

Her heart skipped a beat, rocked by his honesty. She didn't know what she'd expected him to say, but it hadn't been that. Hadn't been the brutal acknowledgement that he shared her feelings, that he liked the way she felt. Oh God. Did that mean he'd been thinking the same sorts of things she had over the long motorcycle-less winter? She felt her face start to blush.

"Gillian?" Oh God. Already the way he said her name was different, warmer, more erotic. He still hadn't moved, ankles still crossed, hands folded across his stomach, but she noticed a subtle tension that wasn't there before. She forced herself to meet his eyes. He surprised her again with a soft look. "You can touch me even when we're not on a motorcycle."

His words were somewhere between an invitation and a command. She didn't need much of either to reach out to him and gently run her fingers down his exposed forearm, the fine hairs tickling her fingertips. He closed his eyes and she thought she felt a shiver run through him. She laid her palm on the center of his chest and held it there, feeling his heartbeat, his breath flow in and out.

His eyelids fluttered open and he met her gaze. Slowly, he covered her hand with one of his own, thumb stroking lightly across her wrist.

"Gillian." This time there was only invitation. She stretched out beside him, propping herself up on one elbow. Her hand still on his chest for balance, she leaned her face closer to his, only to hesitate when an errant lock of her hair fell between them. He gently stroked it back behind her ear as her lips brushed against his, once, twice. And then they were twined around each other, legs tangled together, hands grabbing frantically, trying to pull closer. He wound his hands in her hair and plundered her mouth, desperate to taste her. He realized she was kissing him back just as vigorously. As their tongues wove sensually around each other, he slid both hands down to cup her ass, squeezing gently. She shifted her weight slightly and the friction on his growing erection made them both gasp. With a sly smile, she moved again, deliberately, this time forcing a groan from him. He growled and pulled her closer, trailing kisses across her jaw and down her neck.

His hand was just about to close over a breast when the loud blast of a horn made them both flinch violently. Gillian rolled off him with a thud and sat up. He bit his lip hard to keep from uttering a string of profanity.

Looking back toward the road, she spoke. "Cal, there's a big, bearded guy in overalls standing next to a large flatbed parked by your bike."

"Of course there is," he said between clenched teeth.

"Oh, he's waving." She knelt and waved back. "I'd better get up there and deal with him while you, uh," she glanced at his erection, "compose yourself."

He couldn't contain his frustration any longer. "Fuuuuuuuck," he growled to the world at large.

She stood up, brushed herself off, and gave him a wickedly hot look. "Soon," she said and turned to walk back to the bike.

It took a second, but the meaning of her comment finally sunk into Cal's hormone addled brain. He scrambled to his feet, quickly gathered up the debris of their picnic and hurried after Gillian.


	11. Epilogue

Epilogue

_6 Months Later. . . _

They crept around the corner of the building as quietly as they could, which, given their level of inebriation wasn't nearly as quietly as they would have liked. Still, over the music and the hubbub of conversation, Reynolds wasn't too concerned about getting busted.

"Ok. Ria, you've got the front and Eli and I will hit the rear. Everybody got their equipment?"

Ria and Eli nodded, and the three moved forward and went to work.

* * *

Inside the weather-beaten building, Cal and Gillian sat across from each other, holding hands across its scarred top. Her fingers traced the line of the platinum ring on his finger.

He looked at her questioningly. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

"Scared?"

She smiled softly at him. "Not anymore."

"Me neither." He squeezed her hands. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

Together, they rose and walked over to the front door. Cal swung it open theatrically and he and Gillian emerged into a chorus of cheers from the gathered crowd. As they stepped off the porch, they were pelted with rice and confetti. Still holding hands, they slowly worked their way through the throng towards the front of the parking lot, accepting hugs, kisses, and congratulations.

As the crowd thinned, they saw Loker, Torres, and Reynolds standing shoulder to shoulder in a line in front of what Cal assumed was his bike. They were grinning like idiots. Emily was standing next to Loker, tucked under one of his arms. In her hands she held a bouquet of pale purple and white peonies.

Ria spoke first. "So Gillian," she said, moving forward to embrace Gillian. Her lips twitched as she tried to keep her face serious. "I just want to thank you, on behalf of women everywhere, for saving us all from a fate worse than death, and of course I'm referring to being married to Cal Lightman."

Cal opened his mouth to protest but instead got a taste of Ria as she grabbed the sides of his head and gave him a big, fat kiss.

She let go of him and they all laughed at his stunned expression.

Eventually he found his voice. "I mean, it's my wedding day, right? And all of a sudden I'm getting kissed by more women than I can shake a stick at." He nodded at Loker and Reynolds. "You lot should try it sometime, the whole marriage thing."

They both laughed as they moved forward to shake Cal's hand and give him a manly hug, complete with fist thump on the back. For Gillian, they had more genteel hugs and a kiss on the cheek.

They stepped back to stand next to Ria and Emily moved forward. She held out the bouquet to Gillian. "These are for you."

"Oh Emily, they're beautiful. Thank you so much." Her eyes glistened as Emily wrapped her up in a quick, fierce hug, then stepped back.

"Soooo," she grinned. "I guess this makes you my step-mother."

Gillian looked thoughtful. "Hmm, I guess it does."

"How does that feel?"

"Pretty cool." She flashed a wicked grin of her own.

Emily turned to Cal and threw her arms around his neck. "I'm proud of you," she whispered in his ear.

"Proud?" He sounded confused.

"Because you finally got it right." They squeezed each other tightly.

As Cal and Emily separated, so did the human wall of Ria, Loker, and Reynolds, revealing Cal's motorcycle.

"Oh my God," he breathed. "What did I do to deserve this?"

A bouquet of wildflowers had been tied to the front forks just below the headlight. Silvery ribbon had been tied into elaborate bows on both ends of the handlebars. Onto the rear of the bike had been wired more huge bows and a gaudy, hand-painted sign that read, "Just Married!" Attached to the bottom of the sign were half a dozen long pieces of heavy duty string threaded with a variety of steel and aluminum cans. Near the rear wheel sat Angus, wearing his Tartan bowtie for the occasion.

As Gillian crouched to pet Angus, Cal turned to his attention to the three vandals as he was already thinking of them. He rolled his eyes and said, "Wait, wait, don't tell me – the dog did it."

In response, they merely smiled brightly at him. He sighed theatrically. "Lucky for you I've got better things to do that fret about the décor of my bike." His eyes shifted to Gillian's rear end, accentuated nicely by the black jeans she'd changed into after the ceremony.

He walked over to the bike and held out his hand to help Gillian up. Reynolds stepped forward to hand them their helmets and Eli clipped on Angus's leash. Emily moved to take back the bouquet of flowers she'd just given Gillian. "I'll take care of these for you. Somehow I don't think they'd survive long on the back of a motorcycle." Gillian smiled her thanks.

As she stood holding Cal's hand beside the bike, everything around them receded into the background. Eyes glowing with love, he gave her a gentle kiss and squeezed her hand.

"C'mon love, let's go for a ride."

_The End_


End file.
